Mon Aimé Eros
by lluuxx
Summary: Who is the phantom that lives with Christine in the house by the lake? Erik, who has raised Christine since she was six. She is his little Phantomess, his little Eros. ErikChristine RaoulChristine
1. Act I, Scene One: Once Upon a Time

**Mon Aimé Eros**

_Part one: Protégé_

The night chilled the young girl to her very fragile bones. How was it possible that her dreams became nightmares, and her nightmares became daydreams? Because- surely this couldn't be real. The wind tousled her hair, but somehow it never once flipped over her eyes; the breeze, which now stung from moving so fast, did not sting as much as one would think. This was odd, how people always put together 'flying' and 'the cold wind hurts your face'. But, they also did the same with 'cold' and 'shadows', and the shade that she clung too was defiantly warm.

She was flying on a shadow. How curious. She was moving so fast that streams of darkness billowed out behind her, and her own shadow ran after, trying to catch up- obviously it was jealous of her and her new friend! _Obviously._

Then, the shadow stopped. In front of her was a looming castle, with the highest towers in the world! Everything was shining with bright gold and flawless marble blocks, smooth moonlight glinting off the final statue of a man on the top of the building. Or, was it a man? No, it was an angel! It had big golden wings that curved around its torso, and it had something in its hands- a vase? A flower? If it were a flower, she'd have liked it to be a rose.

The mind of six-year-old Christine Daae was a simple one.

All around her the shadow suddenly began to swirl. She was enveloped in a blanket of black cloth, and young Christine closed her eyes so to stop from getting sick from the speed. Was her shadow rapid? Did it have a disease that caused it to act so? Did it have rabies?

Well, the well-minded six-year-old knows how to handle these types of things. "Do you have rabies?" She demanded the swirling shadow. And, as her first words were spoken into the watery night air (How curious, watery air? It was airy air, thin air, light air…), the swirling stopped. In front of her stood… not a shadow!

_A man!_

A _shadowy_ man!

In her small mind, Christine made up that this man was a vampire, right then and there. How else could he swirl like a cyclone, and be as dark as midnight?

"Vampire," She hissed to him, accusing, then crossed her arms with a pout. Maybe it was the soft panic that thrummed like a tapped pigeon in her chest that made her mouth work without knowledge of her well-minded brain.

The man wore a hood, tilted over his face, which made him said 'shadowy' man. In the shadow that was his face, only a wisp of moonlight shone through his veil, lighting upon something that shone like the provider of light itself. No, her captor wasn't vampire- he was a God! No, Gods didn't wear darkness on their bodies; they immersed themselves in light! Then he was… an angel?

"I hate children." The angel grumbled, and Christine now shivered from the cold. In a moment, the quickly witted girl decided that, if the angel- shadow, God, vampire- had held her before, he could spare some of his warmth now. She flung her small arms around him, burying her face in the tussled blackness that covered his stomach.

The angel seemed to think she was a demon- he jumped back from her like she was one! His cloak swirled around him (She soon discovered that was what had given him the illusion of shade) and settled by his black ankles.

Christine moaned. "Angel! I'm cold!"

The angel stiffened for a second- his back was rigid under layers of dark cloth, and even his pale jaw, barely visible from under the hood, grew tight with a clench. Then, she heard his laughter, small and almost non-existent, for the first time. It fluttered over her like dark butterflies, and, if Christine hadn't been the well-minded girl that she was, she would've tweaked at the air with already-cold fingers to try to catch their faint wings. "Oh, Angel." She sighed happily; who knew an angel could calm frazzled nerves with just a hint of laughter?

"Angel?" He echoed her, and suddenly his cloak was tossed of broad shoulders, resulting in tugging off his hood, resulting in showing young Christine Daae her angel's face for the first time. Oh, my! His face was perfectly white! Moonlight made it glow with a pale light, and his eyes were just two soft golden spheres set deep in his face.

"Yes…?" She tried to make sense with her suddenly muddled thoughts. "Do you have a name, Angel?"

"Call me your Angel of Music." He looked down at her with a small smile. Only his lips and chin wasn't covered in the whiteness, resulting in letting her see his pale skin slightly. She could see his skin nowhere else- his sparse brown hair was combed strategically so that it covered his ears, and he wore black just everywhere!

Christine smiled to herself, smug. So, he _was_ an angel! She had _known_ it, even before he had said it. "But, even _angels_ have names…" She trailed off, and forced herself to meet those dark, golden eyes with her own.

When she blinked, the angel let himself shiver for a moment. Uncertainty ripped through his mind and worry flooding his eyes. Though, when Christine opened her eyes again after a moment, her angel was looking as calm as ever though, having regained his air of confidence.

"Erik." He said, his voice even lower then before, barely more then a melodic whisper.

"Erik." She echoed softly. It was the name fitting for… him. Not a vampire, a God, a shadow, or an angel. Erik was a fitting name for Erik.

"Christine Daae, I am yours as you are mine… you are mine now, _right_?" He murmured, eyes suddenly glinting with eagerness. He said 'mine' with more pride then she could've ever mustered up, and she was a slightly arrogant girl.

She nodded weakly, suddenly awed by her captor…her guardian… her angel! But, why? What sort of power did he have over her; what had he resurrected inside her in such a sort time? Was this what it was like to feel wanted, to be loved by anther person? Erik interrupted her thoughts.

"Now, let me show you heaven."

With a swirl of shade-like cloak, Erik led six-year-old Christine Daae into the Opera Populaire. In a second, she became the princess of his castle, and the small dapple of color on the easel. In a second, Christine Daae became Erik's life.

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**summery**: 

What if the serpent fell in love with Eros? What happens when the fire reaches the sapling? Can fatherly love turn to romance when it is demanded too?

What if… what if Erik had found Christine when she was only six years old, an arrogant young girl who had been living in a run-down Orphanage since she was just a baby? What if he fell in love with that voice, like the story tells, and learned to manipulate an innocent mind into being his protégé- into being the Phantomess of the Opera… and being the Cherub of Music?

_For never was a story of more torment then this of the Devil and his Juliet._

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**Disclaimer:** I do not own Phantom of the Opera. Gaston does, no one else, ya here? 

**Rating: T**… for the third chapter I think… may have to make it go up higher though, because… well… that third chapter ain't nice.)

_(PS: I sincerely need a betta reader. This is my first Phan-Fic, so be nice… if anyone reviews at all, that is- lux)_


	2. Scene Two: Stranger Then You Dreamt It

Six-year-old Christine Daae woke to the flare of a lamp. Erik, the angel, the shadowy angel, was at the foot of a bed- she was in a bed now? When had this happened? –and had lit a light for her to wake up to. 

So, this meant, that it hadn't been a dream? Her escape from the Orphanage in the arms of a shadow on her sixth birthday, leaving the surprised faces behind on a wave of joy, and hearing an angel's laughter, sweeter then honeysuckle, purer then the white petals.

Erik, her angel, turned around. He wore no shadowy cape across his back now, and even had a faded white shirt on. He still had the moon-face, but now his eyes had set into night, the sunlight settling into darkness.

"Christine." He looked upon her with an odd expression on his face- she didn't really understand it. It was like him saying that she was his yesterday; angels were funny, she guessed.

"I'm sorry, my dear, but Erik must be gone this morning. Lunch is on a table in the other room- your door leads to a hall; take the fourth door on the left."

Christine nodded. She never did get to sleep in, which resulted in her being knocked out when no one woke her up. Was that the strained emotion on the angel's face? Worry that she was dead? Fainted? In a coma?

"Don't worry, Erik, Chrissie will still be here when Erik comes back." She hummed, picking up with good humor on his talking in third person. 'Chrissie' ran a hand through messy, bouncy, brown curls of hair, watching as Erik's white moon-face suddenly glittered with the ghost of a smile.

"Children," was all she heard out of his incoherent mumblings.

Lunch turned out to be finely cut slices of sweet-tasting ham, with a large wheel of some sort of white cheese, baguettes, and cream cheese. She sighed at the loveliness of all the tastes, her mouth so used to a bitter normality of potato soup and slivers of hard bread. Speaking of the Orphanage, how would she live now, in her oak-room? Yes, her room with the highly polished oak furniture, ornate white sculptures the size of dolls, and the elderly, dusty books was fine, but did it have places to store the rock collection she kept in her pocket? Would it be able to hold up to a child's careless abuse?

She took one final, chokingly large bite of ham on bread and sent it down to her stomach with a swig of cold water; then she stood and walked back down the hallway to her room, arms out-stretched so that her fingers could skim the flaky walls- the hall was small, the paint was old.

Finally, a thought occurred to her. What if she went outside, just for a bit? It had been a clear night yesterday, which meant she could probably count on good weather for today.

Christine used up an hour of her life looking for a window on the walls of the house by the lake, and she did not dare touch a door; she had promised Erik not to leave anyway.

Slumping back on her bed, her spine curved against her bedpost, the young girl put her face in the slant her bended knees made. She was locked here, by her own promise to the angel!

She was totally defeated- her, the leader of the scrawny gang of children at the Orphanage, her, the scruffy child of the dead Mr. Daae, the teller of stories and the fiddler, her, Christine, the adventurer, the lioness, the griffin, the-

The sound of silk skimming across the wooden floors in the hallway interrupted the young girl's pompous thoughts. Just as the doorknob turned, she managed to propel herself into the space between the side of the bed and the wall; this resulted in a banged elbow and twin scraped hands.

"Christine?"

His voice was thick with sudden worry; when she didn't respond from her hiding place, he rushed over to the bed, and peered into the dark space she had dived into. Pain made the corners of her small eyes gleam with two, tiny tears, and she nibbled on her pale lower lip. "Why… why are you here?" Erik commanded, after stuttering with relief. He glared at Christine with abrupt rage clear on his features- she saw it from the way he tapped his foot, or maybe the fact his eyes had a dangerous glint to them. His eyes… the darkness… she had failed him.

"Erik!" She cried, and crawled out of the small space so that she could crumple herself up on the floor. "Forgive me!" She pleaded. "Erik! I was only hiding from the person at the door- I mean, if it had been a stranger…!"

He paused, and then brushed a gloved hand across her shoulder. "Christine, get up." He said sternly. "You are forgiven." Erik added on a softer note.

Christine got up with the added support of a black-clothed arm (He still wore a black coat over the white shirt), and swayed on her feet for a second. The pain from the fall was residing, but she knew a faint blue bruise would mar her pale skin tomorrow.

"Are you hurt?" Erik inquired, his voice still implying that he was mad at her, no matter what he said.

When Christine shook her head, though, he let out a soft sigh, so soft she had almost not heard it. Was her angel relieved? Of course: Angels hate pain.

"How can I make this up to you?" She murmured, following him as he led back to the dining room where she had eaten lunch. Curious- it was perfectly clean again, the mahogany table wiped down of all her messy crumbs.

"I am your Angel of Music, true?" Erik asked her once more, and Christine sought out his hand to hold, but whenever she reached over to grope for it, he somehow found another turn to turn at and stepped away from her hand. If she could get his hand, then she could reassure him that he was still her angel- he always would be! It confused her; and she answered the only way a befuddled child asking for more forgiveness did: she tried to please Erik the only way she knew how.

"You are mine and I am yours." She whispered, not knowing why she had lowered her tone, not knowing why this now made her shiver instead of making her feel wanted like yesterday. Erik and her had long passed through the dining room, and were weaving through halls and halls of stony corridors; Christine didn't know where they were going, but she didn't care.

Erik hadn't been looking at her as they had been walking, but now he did. There! There it was again! Christine was sure of this time: on his face, so plainly bold, was excitement! And now he smiled, smiled with the only part of his face that wasn't covered in the white mask- she was now guessing that it was a mask he wore, but yet, Christine had never seen a mask so white! All the masks she had seen were brightly colored and checkered, spotted, and vibrant. His was… white.

"What makes Erik excited?" Christine wondered aloud, and then blushed slightly at the realization that she had said it aloud, and not inside her well-minded mind.

"Dear, do not be ashamed. You can ask me anything." A gloved hand slid into her's, and pure black fingers weaved in between Christine's own. They were dramatically in contrast- she was an innocent vision of white, him… the angel of shadow, of music, of the Opera House.

"Erik, then why…? Why does the fact that you have me… make you happy?" She was puzzled, but the sudden warmth and attention she had just gotten from her guardian made her not as curious.

"I never had any children." He paused for a second, choosing his words. "I've always wanted some. Needed some. I need someone to carry my legacy on long when I'm gone. A protégé, I guess." He smiled, and she knew the laugh that came from him was forced, for her, but she enjoyed it like a freezing breeze on a sweltering summer day. Before it had been careful black butterflies, now it was a breeze? How curious… how curious this all was.

"I can be your… pro… pro…"

"Protégé, dear."

"Protégé." She smiled, and gave his hand a small squeeze, a promising squeeze. Her eyes widened with a sudden dreadful chill when she realized that, when she had squeezed his hand, she had instantly felt his bones, rock-hard under what seemed like a slippery and thin layer of flesh. Erik whisked his hand and arm away from her, and strode up to the door at the end of the hallway they were in. He flung open the door, and almost slammed it closed, then seemed to remember that young Christine was still behind him and left it open for her usage.

Christine- a trembling young girl just a day into her sixth year of life- slipped into the dark room behind her angel; always behind. "Erik." She mumbled before closing the door, which left them in sudden and binding darkness.

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(Ah, _Belle Reviewers_! You have all made my day! I hope you all liked this chapter; I sure liked writing it! Yes, there will be much angst and happiness- not together in the same chapters, of course- too make for 'one hell of an emotional roll coaster'. Sincerly, Lux)  



	3. Scene Three: Erik's Forever

"Being a protégé means that you are mine! Mine until I do not want you anymore! Mine _forever_!" 

"Erik, I'm _already_ yours." Wasn't that what a proper parent-child relationship consisted of? The parent owned the child, and the child, in an odd way, owned the parent. It wasn't like having servants… well; it was like having a gentle slave master, yes? Yes?

"Yes, yes, I know that!" He seemed frustrated as his strode in the darkness; she couldn't see him, but she could hear his footsteps: Thump, thump, thump. A little thumping black rabbit… "But being my protégé means you are mine… forever! Do you realize how long forever is? It's… for…ever. Forever means that you will never get to re-think this! Ever! You are mine! My property! You will do what I tell you and be my apprentice, my loyal little Christine, my dear little Christine… _mine_!"

"Yes, Erik, I will. Forever! Ever and ever and ev-"

"I understand." He snapped, making her blink with hurt. Didn't he understand? She wanted to be his! Now she was getting used to the darkness, and saw a pale shape in the center of a round room, with Erik sitting on a bench by it.

"Here… Erik… _Monsieur Angel_… do you have a pen?" Her voice quivered, she knew, but she had an idea formed in her head.

Erik looked up. Now his eyes were brighter then ever! Twin fires of golden light, so fiercely yellow that it could make the sun squirm! He then reached into his pocket and took out an old quill and handed it to her. Surprised by his old-fashion-ness, Christine didn't even see him as he stared at her.

Finally, she realized he was waiting for something.

"And what does Erik want?" She asked, now groping in her pale gray pocket for any jars of ink she might have.

"Aren't you going too…?" He trailed off, and then suddenly grabbed her finger from where he sat on the bench, and struck her with the quill like a snake. The tip of it dug into her flesh, deeper and deeper, until she cried of the pain. "Angel!" She screamed, more frightened then hurt.

Finally, he flicked the quill out, sending a droop of her blood on his dark thigh; it glistened like a brilliantly red ruby.

He held the quill for her to take in one of her shaking hands. Comprehension dawned on her like the sunrise- he used blood for ink.

But she didn't need that… no. She had an even better idea now!

Trembling, Christine took the old, swan's feather quill and pressed the bloodied tip to her palm. She egged herself on as she made the sharpened point once again burrow into her. It was slow work, but finally she managed a bleeding word into her skin.

_Erik's._

On the other hand, she did the same.

_Erik's. _

On her thigh, after lifting her dress up slightly (She was nervous, especially when Erik shifted in his seat when he saw her now-red fingers on the hem of the washed-out garment).

_Erik's. _

On the pads of her small, callused feet.

_Erik's!_

She trembled in pain; now she had a reason too. He, for the first time, took her in his arms. She was his, Erik's.

"_Forever._" He whispered in her ear, and then sang ever so softly. _"Juliet took the pain to be with Romeo… she did not care that her death was slow… no precious blood fell from her skin… away went the angel within…"_

Breathing jaggedly, the wounded girl fainted in his embrace. She was his. _Erik's_.

"_Forever"_

_

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(A/N: This was a hard chapter to write. Seriously. I'll quickly update with the next chapter, promise. As you can see, the story is quickly speeding along- I've written 18 pages in it, and I'm about half way done writing in the first part. Just so you know, the story will have three parts: Number one, Protege, Number two, A Lady, and Number three... which has no name yet, but it might be called Sunlight. _

_ As for the story going to quickly: I have no clue what is really going to happen next. I rarely think about it, though I do have a rough outline of what I want to happen. The only time I had to think was when... well, I won't tell. _

_Keep reviewing! You all are SOOPERDEDOOPER :D -lux) _


	4. Scene Four: Past The Point of No Return

She awoke today stiff… and in horrible pain. What cursed thoughts had entered her mind last night? What darkness now plagued her? Why had she used his quill to scribble his name into her skin- empathies on _into_ her! All the place she had written 'Erik's' now were framed with scarlet, and they throbbed, burning her. But, hey, she was already in hell… why should it matter? 

The thoughts of young Christine Daae that morning were sweltering with maturity, far, far beyond just her six years and two days of age!

Accompanying her those first days were periwinkle bruises dotting her arms and thin scabs around each Erik's- but it was no use, she knew: She had scarred herself.

Erik was always in that one room, always! She never got to see him anymore. When he did come out, he was always muttering, muttering dark things. Christine lingered by the door at the end of all the hallways, her ear pressed to the wood.

"_Past the point of no return_…"

She listened, and her hand drifted to the doorknob as if she was in a trance.

"_No backward glances! Our games of make-believe are at and end…"_ She wanted to weep; her ears weren't worthy of hearing such liquid beauty! Erik's voice drifted through the thick wood, making her heart jump along with the slow melody, and Christine didn't even care to listen to the words he sang… he could have been singing 'The girl is like an elephant' and she would've sighed with happiness!

In a whisper, he said, _"Past,"_ then sang the rest of the line with his voice gradually getting louder and louder. _"All thoughts of 'if' or 'when'- no use resisting! Abandoned thought and…and…?" _

_"Let the dream descend."_ She whispered, her brain not registering that she was speaking. She almost fainted when she murmured those words; so sad was she that it was quiet now. The voice was gone!

When the spinning in her head stopped, Christine yelled, "Continue, Angel of Music!"

So not to crush her between the wall and the wood, Erik opened the door and grabbed her arm swiftly again, pulling her into the darkness that stung her eyes.

"Insolent girl! What were you doing?" Erik shoved her roughly against a cold, wet stone wall, making the cuts on her feet open back up. _Erik's _soon soaked the bottom of her boots with strangely chilled blood. "Why are you here! Did I allow you to come in? No! Insolent, stupid little girl! How could I have ever thought… Ahhh!" He resembled the serpent once more; he hissed with boiling rage, with cold fury.

Tears swam in Christine's small eyes, and she let out a cry of despair as Erik took both of her arms once more, and held her balled fists at the same level as her eyes. Christine turned her face so that he had to look at hair; oh, how close the deadly white mask was now to her face! He held her without any regards of how it might feel, pushed up against the unforgiving stone, holding her slightly above the ground so that only the toes of her bloody shoes the ground.She could feel his breath, warm, on her throat… she thanked God he wasn't a vampire.

"Erik…"

"Speak, girl! Tell me what you were doing here!"

She had an idea… should she trust it now? Look at the trouble it had gotten her into last time! Still unsure of herself, Christine let her idea breath.

"_Past… the point of no return…" _She sang slowly, nervously, afraid her small voice would crack._ "No backward…"_ She snuffed out a sob before it could even reach her mouth, making her sniffle. _"Glances… Our games of make believe are at an end… Past…all thought of 'if' or 'when'- no use resisting!" _She turned her head once more, hair grinding between the wall and her skull, and stared at Erik now. He was so much stronger then her- there really was no use trying to stop him now. This was her only hope… of resistance.

She might as well… use her new line in the song, the one that had flowed from her mouth at the door. "_Abandon thought and let the dream descend!" _She was getting more confident now, more cocky. She sang with her heart, making her voice soprano syrup, sweeter then any voice except Erik's… Should she believe herself now, when there was no angelic voice to persuade the words out of her?

_This was the point of no return._ She had to. And Erik's eyes, so intense, so bright, looked at her… no warm breathe caressed her pale cheeks now.

"_What raging fire shall flood the soul?"_ She accused him in song, voicing her fear of the darkness- of him, though she would ever admit that. Seeing his glittering eyes, eagerness as clear in them as the fear in her song, she added for good measure, _"What rich desire locks its door?" _

And, with that, she stopped singing. She had made her point, she saw. And then she was rewarded with a treat greater then sweet buns… greater then the cinnamon icing a-top them… Erik began to sing.

"_What sweet seduction lies before,"_ his voice dropped again, _"us?"_

Us.

It was the first time he had said _us_.

It made Christine stop worrying so quick that she felt light-headed. She melted in his rough grip, let her head loll to the side so that her hair formed a curtain around her face; but thin black fingers swished the brown locks away from her face, then cupped the whole hand around her chin, turning her face to Erik again. She saw wild excitement, and a small invatation. To sing_. With him. _She was more like his echo, not singing exactly with him for she did not know the words, but still, thier voices melted into one.

_"Past the point of no return, the final threshold! What warm un-spoken secrets will we learn?"_

Her voice was small, for she realized something dark... forbidding... horrible… right then. _"Beyond the point of no… re… turn."_ She whispered, and let her body fall limp as he embraced her once more, clinging to her like a rag doll.

"Forever!" Was all she heard now, and she let herself sob openly into his arms. A day into her agreement, and she was already regretting her choice! But the bloody scars on her feet told her enough- she was his. "Forever!" He practically squeaked, acting like a child in a candy store with a thousand francs in his pocket.

Why… why was she regretting her choice?  
Because, at only six years and two days of age, young Christine Daae had enough sense to realize just one thing: That Erik felt very strongly about her... or her voice.

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_(A/N: Ah! I'm on a roll! I'm updating with all the chapters I have stored up for this story! You are lucky people, reviewers.-lux)_


	5. Scene Five: Daroga

"She's six years old!"

"Your point?"

"She hasn't even hit puberty!"

"I figured that-"

"Erik! Listen to yourself! You-"

"How can I listen to myself if you're talking?"

"Erik!"

"Quiet! I'm listening to myself! Wait… wait! I think I hear something! Would you like to hear it too, daroga?"

Sigh. "Yes, Erik."

"Guess what I say… guess!"

"Ow! Okay… I guess… you don't care?"

"You are a clever man, daroga."

"She's-"

"'Only six years old'- I know that! I _know_, daroga! But, if you could've heard her voice… she calls me angel, you know, _me_! Angel! But I've told her my name, I have, and she didn't get scared! She's so innocent… my little, dear… _mine_… Christine!"

"Listen to what you are saying! You are taking _away_ her innocence! How can you condemn a little girl to this darkness, with only a man at least-"

"How could the world condemn me to this darkness? Because, no one cared for Erik! No one! And now she does, my little, dear Christine! _Mon Amie!_ She tells me herself that she is mine, that she will be forever mine! She will soon grow, daroga, and then she will love me even _more_…! She is my protégé, you know! My apprentice! She will be… _Le Fantômess de l'opéra!_" Laughter.

"_ERIK!"_

"_DAROGA!"_

"Stop acting like a child! Ah, well, it doesn't matter, your having an affair with one anyway-"

"Not yet, at least! She will grow, and the bud will turn to the flower, and every good flower has its thorns, right? I can be her thorns!" Whimper. _"Christine… Christine… Christine…" _

"Yes?" The small shape of young, six-year-old, Christine Daae stepped into the dining room, rubbing her eyes and yawning. The Persian and The Phantom stared at her with the same amount of surprise in their eyes.

"Christine!" Erik yelped, and rushed over to her, which he did quickly, for the room was small- all it needed to hold was the large, rectangular table and the vase of violets on it. "Why are you up so early? I haven't even gotten lunch ready for you!"

"A-hem." The Persian stepped forward, deep eyes crinkling as he frowned. "I have something to discuss with you, Chri- Good lord, Erik!"

The stranger rushed forward, and made to grab Christine's bare arm, on which bore the red writing of '_Erik's_', but Erik caught him by the wrist and tugged the man towards himself. He then twisted his wrist, making The Persian collapse at Erik's deeply black-booted feet. The angel kicked him once in the chest, then reached down and pinched him on the back of his neck. He then made quick work of dragging his ally out of the dining room and placing him in yet another room.

When he returned to the dining room, he saw Christine in a corner, face buried in layers of her own gray dress, sobbing.

"Christine!" Erik came and dropped down, his own face inches from hers. His dark hair hung over the moon-mask gracefully, and he had all the elegance of a lion… a lion mourning his lioness.

Christine didn't answer.

"Christine… dear… what is wrong?" He whispered, his voice broken.

"Angel…Angels hate pain!" She tried to wipe the tears away, but only managed to smear them. Erik tried to help her, but she did something astonishing: she swatted him away.

He waited for her to speak- he would've waited an eternity, but he saw that this was going nowhere. "Dearest-"

Again, her confidence mixed with anger made her abusive and sharp-tongued. "If I am a deer, then you are a stag! A wicked, wicked stag!"

"Christine," he chuckled, "I do not think you understand the full meaning to the word…"

"Wicked, wicked!"

"Okay, then, if I am an angel, then you are a cherub." He smiled, but she did not return it. Her voice cracked as she hissed, "You are no angel!"

"But you are the feminine Eros, aren't you?"

"Eros?"

Seeing that he had pricked her interest again, Erik shifted from kneeling to sitting cross-legged on the floor, his long black cloak sitting around him like a puddle. Dark, almost invisible eyes peered at her. "Eros is but only a child, but yet has the strength to cripple a man." Sighing, he smoothed her crumbled hair with a gloved hand, and then looked at her again. Christine was pondering this.

"You think I'm strong?" She asked, a bit happier. Flattery was the bane of Christine's existence.

"Unbelievably." Erik smiled softly, and then held out his long-fingered hand for her too take. Hoisting herself up with his help, Christine grinned. She probably couldn't have disabled that man like he could, but with time…

"What is going to happen to him?" She asked, jerking her thumb over to point at the door Erik had dragged The Persian through. Erik brushed off his shoulders and looked at the door, then shrugged. "Nothing much. I'll probably… are you hungry?"

The abrupt question threw her off guard.

"Unbelievably." She echoed, and then jumped over to him, a new spring in her step. Compliments and food… how would've she had faired in the Garden of Eden, with the serpent winding itself around her heels…?

Erik laughed, and snatched her hand (A bit roughly, she thought) so he could lead her into the hallway that led to her room. But then they turned left… where were they going!

"Where are we going, Erik?" Christine inquired, swinging her arm slightly so that his would too. Somewhere new, she hoped.

"Outside. It is time past time we buy you new clothes and stockings, plus shoes." He sent a disgusted look at her ruddy clothes and messed-up boots. Outside? She hadn't been there in the days since Erik had abduc- taken her in.

"Can we going to the 'cream place?"

"That is a morbid thought, dear… I am surprised." He sent another glance at her, his dull tone not showing an ounce of his alleged surprise (She guessed he was raising an eyebrow, under the mask), and then opened a door that led into a long, pitch-black hallway. A shiver ran down Christine's back, but she managed to keep her voice steady. "And, why is that, Monsieur Erik?" She wasn't quiet ready to call him Angel once more, but, maybe, he had earned the title. His voice, she remembered, was more beautiful then anything in the world.

"I do hope you know that you are talking of the Cremation House." He guided her through the darkness, and held her hand tightly as a scuttle on the stone floor next to them made her jump. There was a steady drip-drip in the corridor, and Christine's dress trailed behind her by an inch, collecting soot and mud along the way.

"I mean the Ice-cream House… place… store." She trembled at the very thought! Entering the funereal house with Erik, whose hands felt like bones- though she was sure he must be very handsome under the mask, to have such a voice. But, she didn't mind the hands now, for it was the only thing that acknowledged her of his presence still.

"Ice-cream? What is that?" He asked, now leading her towards a faint patch of light at the end of the corridor.

"Oh, it is the greatest!" Christine smiled. "It is like… it is cold cream, I guess. And it comes in different flavors, like chocolate, and berry, but most of all, vanilla- vanilla is most popular in America, that's where we got the first batch from. How they could've flown it over seas is anyone's guess, without it melting and all."

"Oh? It melts?" Erik seemed honestly fascinated in Ice-cream.

"Yes, and _very fast_!" Christine followed as Erik led her into an alleyway, right out from the hall. Erik then swung around and pulled his hood way, way over his face, so that it practically shrouded him from view. All that was left was a pure white nose sticking out from under the black shade. He took something out of his pocket a clipped it around Christine's shoulders- it took her a second to figure out what it was, but when she did, she squeaked with glee. Her very own cloak!

"Quiet!" Erik hissed as he pulled her own hood over her face, which made it slightly hard to see- the hood blocked out the top part of her eyes; but it was a cloak! A cape! A shadow!

"Now I really am your-"

"Ah, yes, _Mon Amie_. You are mine, aren't you?" He reached into the drape that cape made and pulled out her arm very briefly, once more showing her _Erik's._

Christine forced a smile.

What she had meant to say was 'your protégé.'

_(And more yet...)_


	6. Scene Six: Little Lotte

Lunch with Erik was a curious affair. They ate in a small café, Café Lotte, to be exact. The mascot of the café was a little girl, who looked unusually like Christine, with the same swishing mop of brown curls and the sparkling eyes. Her name? Little Lotte. She was the picture of innocent against her red backdrop, with large black French letters printed across the top of the poster. She smiled naively at her spectators. 

The people owning Café Lotte even gave Christine and Erik a free meal since she looked so much like their spokes-girl.

"You know, I think my father used to sing about Little Lotte." Christine chattered as Erik calmly sipped his soup, ignoring the critical looks he got from the passerby. Christine was already feasting on a double-scoop chocolate Ice-cream cone ("Cone? Ingenious! Clever, clever Americans!" She grinned as she slowly got a small chocolate mustache across her upper lip); she had finished her own soup quickly. Ice-cream was always something to be rushed too.

Suddenly, she let out a small yelp. "Oh! Owww!" Erik looked up swiftly, but hesitated as the people sitting on the little tables around them looked over.

"Brain-freeze. 'Tis gone now." Christine smiled with relief, and rubbed her temple as she ate the last bit of waffle-y cone.

Erik sighed. "I shouldn't be here." He mumbled, and he was quiet right. He looked absolutely out of place in his black attire (He had stuffed the cloaks in their pockets), and he was wearing his moon-face, but had his small locks of chocolate-colored hair pushed around it as much as possible. His dark, dark eyes flicked back and forth, repeatedly blinking in the sunlight, and his pale skin was already looking a little red, even though they had been out for what seemed like only a few minutes.

"Christine, lets go…" He whispered, and stood. He towered over their little circular table, and waited patiently as Christine daintily wiped her mouth with a napkin. Finally, both were up, and Erik led a stumbling Christine by her hand to another alleyway. There, he pulled out both of their cloaks, and pushed her's over her new pale-yellow dress. Christine adjusted the capes knot around her neck as Erik slid his own sinuously, and pulled both of their hoods way over their foreheads.

"Ready?" He asked, looking down the ally. Only a stray dog sleeping against trash bin posed any threat to them. "Yessir, Monsieur."

They shopped for hours, till a blue twilight mist strung itself out onto the streets. Erik's way of shopping was to slip into the store, take whatever he wanted, and live one franc, precisely one, behind.

Christine was nearly asleep on her feet as they reached the end of the tunnel, which lead back to the hall with her door in it. Erik held all her packages and parcels, not looking tired at all. His eyes glowed soft yellow as Christine fiddled with a match and finally struck up the lamp on the top of the Louise-Philippe set of drawers. She looked with little interest at the ornate wall hangings and the bookshelves, and then collapsed on her bed, grabbing the floral sheets with her tiny hands and curling up into a ball. Erik watched with mild amusement, but mostly his eyes shone with happiness, for he was back in his darkness once more.

Erik slowly pulled out all of her clothes, which were the most bizarre things! Bright crimson stockings, copper gloves, golden dresses: every garment a girl would ever need, ever want- but all the colors of fire! He had also gotten her two brushes, one for her hair (Which had gotten quiet… ghastly) and one for her teeth. Lastly, he had gotten her a large thing of chocolate Ice-cream, which delighted the young girl so much that she was almost tempted to embrace her guardian again; but she decided not too.

Erik sat on the foot of her bed, Christine herself trying to make herself sleep, but somehow it just wouldn't come! Sleep avoided her, teased her, like the way a coin glints at the bottom of a fountain, and everyone knows it is bad luck to reach down and get it.

She felt him move slightly, and then thought she might've felt his hand on her ankle through the sheets and the covering blanket. "Would you…" He cleared his throat. "Would you like to hear a lullaby?" Erik asked.

Christine opened her eyes, and looked over her shoulder. She knew she must look a tad bit surprised. "Could I?" She said, eager. She knew his voice could've lulled an insomniac.

"Okay… which one?" He was new to this.

"Maybe… how about you just make one up?" Christine pondered. She didn't want to suggest a tune he didn't know; that would lead to a very awkward silence.

"Okay. Hmm… _Little Lotte stood on the beach, looking up at the stars she could not reach_…"

Christine smiled as she closed her eyes again.

_"But she never gave up… each night she tried once more… no matter if she was tired… no matter if she was sore…"_

The rest was the purest murmurs of music, simple but yet beautiful. Erik just sang incoherent notes, and, in time, Christine drifted off.

* * *

_(Sorry it took so long to update! Expect tons of chapters soon :D) _


	7. Scene Seven: Rewarded

Christine sat amidst an uncomfortable quiet as she ate her lamb chop. It was dinner, and Erik had asked if he could dine with her that night. She had agreed happily; he had been gone most of the day- up until then- and she had been looking forward to seeing him once more. Last night, all the walls had been torn down, and she had seen her true angel, not the man who had decided to live in the cellars of an opera house. 

She knew she should be more curious about Erik's true face, the one behind the mask. But, she didn't know a lot of people. Maybe there was a whole society of men and woman who strutted around in masks, their eyes glowing green and blue and silver? She was nervous to ask, even though he had said she could ask him anything.

She lifted the fork to her lips and chewed the meat in silence, eyes on the vase of violets in the middle of the table. Erik sat across from her, watching her.

Finally, when the stillness was weighing down upon her, Christine asked, "Erik? Why is it that you wear a mask?" She had meant to ask why he had asked her to eat with him, but the question slipped out. Her eyes flew up just in time to see his flash bright gold, and to see his hand curl tighter around the fork.

Sharp words came out of his mouth, so fast that Christine couldn't catch them. "No where to run", "Daroga", and "Gypsy" was about all she heard of his harsh explanation of himself.

Christine twisted her fingers together in her lap after putting down her own fork and knife. She thanked God that Erik had chosen to eat soup once more; AKA not something he would have to cut, which would mean he would've had a knife by him at the table. "Erik… I'm afraid I didn't hear that…" She lowered her eyes again, a lump in her throat. 'Stupid, stupid Christine!' Her inner voice screamed.

"Well, now we see the deer is caught! Eros is out of golden tips, so she must use the lead! Ha, ha, ha!" She was sure Erik's hand would break the fork he was holding.

"Is this what you were curious about?" He dropped the fork suddenly, and his hand went to the edge of the mask, fingertips just under it. "Our tale is a curious one, isn't it, Mon Amie? Instead of you seeing my in the darkness, I see you! Drip, drip, drip goes the wax! Burning me, killing me, drip, drip, drip!

"Ah, your mother would not approve of me loving you, but she must, for she hasn't stuck me down from heaven- wait, that has already been done! By Zeus! By God himself! Well, curious child, see your reward?_ SEE YOUR REWARD?_"

Christine Daae had no time to dwell on the fact that he had said he loved her, for Erik ripped off his mask, and she saw his face, his true face, for the first time. Christine Daae, her inner and outer voice combined, screamed.

"Erik!" She cried, her vision swaying. "Put the mask back on! Put the mask back on!" Tears fell out of her blurry eyes. Oh, what horror of horrors! For all of the skin on Erik's face above his lips was twisted, gnarled, decaying, and crimson red! His nose was just two slits, like a snake, and his pale gold eyes sat in black, round sockets. His ears were knobby red bits, and the flesh of his forehead was almost translucent, revealing the pale skull underneath.

"No, dear Christine, you asked, and this is the answer! You see my face; do you think it is real? Well, why not touch it? Why not?"

He got up so swiftly his chair tipped over, and he was soon by Christine's side. He grabbed her hands from her lap, and lifted her up ruthlessly by her waist, then sat her feet squarely on the chair she had just been sitting on, so that he could look her in the eyes- her standing on a chair, him just standing. He snatched her hands once more and lifted them to his face, pressing her palms against his cold, distorted, scarlet skin. Now the word _Erik's_ pushed up against Erik himself.

Christine let out a small moan of terror as he made her fingers trace his nose holes, and then around those wide black eye sockets.

"Erik, I see it…" She whimpered. "I know!" Her voice was the calm before a storm; she was closing in on hysteria in her mind, which had blissfully frozen over on her.

"You do not see it." He dropped on over her hand, and grabbed her chin, catching curls of brown in his fingers as he did so. She did not struggle as he heartlessly pulled her face forward to look at him, and did not struggle as he drew her even closer. He even smelt of death! But she had shut down. She didn't hear him as he talked; she only heard her own mysteriously slow heartbeat.

_"You,"_ He breathed, cold air upon her closed eyelids, _"are mine!"_

He pushed her back, making her hit the wall and fall roughly off the chair. She still did not say anything, just curled up, waiting.

_This was not how a parent acts_

He was putting back on his mask and smoothing out the silk across his hands. She did not think, she did not move. "I will be gone for a time." She knew without much consideration to the manner that he was choosing his words; he did not say how long he would be gone. It was like a test. She guessed he would be watching her, somehow, through the walls, when he didn't return. Did he expect her to panic?

_This was not how an angel acts_

Christine's cruel, inner voice snapped, 'We already knew he wasn't an angel. Remember that Daroga guy? How he hurt him? He had tried to save you, that Dargoa, and, well, now I bet he is dead!'

Erik left the dining room. Christine did not know how long she lay, folded up, away from the world. It was too late for her, she was in too deep. He loved her and hated her; she was terrified of him… all other feelings had been blown away, blasted into dust by Erik's actions.

_No- this was how Erik acts._


	8. Scene Eight: The Sins of an Angel

Christine wiped her sweaty brow, shivering all over. She had not seen Erik for what seemed like days. She was starving, thirsty, and, this was the most peculiar part, she was so tired, no matter what she did. She could devote whole days- were they days? There were no windows or clocks to check with- to sleep, but, once she got back up, she was still trembling and weak.

"Erik." She whispered, leaning against the dining room wall. "You're killing me." Her voice was slow, and she took her time so that she wouldn't stutter.

'Killing, killing, killing,' the walls echoed.

"Erik…"

Silence.

"I'm dieing."

'Dieing, dieing, dieing…'

"You're making me die."

'Die, die, die…'

Swallowing, Christine put her hand to her head. He was making the table sway! The ground sway! Everything: sway, sway, sway!

"That's a wonderful trick, Erik."

'Trick? Trick? Trick?' Now the echo sounded curious. Christine closed her eyes so she wouldn't have to see any more movement; she felt like any more swaying would make her throw up. She always did have a bit of motion sickness.

"Yes, Erik. You're making the table sway. I see it." Once again, Christine didn't realize she was lying. Her eyes were still closed.

'Sway? Sway? Sway…'

The ground lurched from beneath her feet. She stumbled in the darkness, and put her hand up against the wall for support.

She couldn't say anything for a while. Her throat was drying even more. Her head pounded. Her stomach twisted.

Finally, she tried saying his name again, but all that came out was a slurred 'Erk.'

'Erik, Erik, Erik…'

Christine finally dropped. Before losing her mind to the black abyss that presented itself before her, she felt cool hands against her cheeks.

"Erik, Erik, Erik…"

* * *

Christine regained consciousness after ten minutes, and she instantly felt a stab of worry in her chest. The last few moments -Days? Weeks? Years?- she remembered were awfully jumbled and muddled up. She remembered Erik's hands, bare hands, around her face, long fingers just touching her ears…beyond that… what had happened? 

She was in a new dress. Before she had been wearing red. Now she wore orange. Flushing red at the thought Erik himself must've been the one to change her out of her dirty garment, Christine observed the room she was in. It was cool, circular, and large, with flickering yellow candles perched around the walls to add illumination to the scene. An organ stood in the middle, the rack just above the keys jam-packed with sheets of music.

She was in the room at the end of the hallways.

"Erik?" She asked, but there was no reply, not even an echo. She explored the round room slowly, and soon wandered over to the organ. It was a magnificent piece against the gray stone that made the room; it had a deep, polished mahogany base (Was that what you called it? Might as well) with deep, polished mahogany legs. The keys were slightly yellowed, but the great silver and black pipes towering out from the base threw off any thoughts of the instrument being shabby. Christine didn't know how to read music, so the lines on the papers were just that: lines. They were all written in red ink, red blood. She felt a sense of terror creep through her, and a scream was daring to creep up in her throat (Do you know that feeling? Your throat suddenly becomes tight and heavy, and swallowing becomes hard), but the door she had not noticed swung open, showing her a vision in black silk.

"Angel!" She rasped, for her throat was still dry. He was not an angel for the other reasons, oh no. He was an angel for her carried a platter of fruit and a pitcher of water.

Erik strode over and gave the child his gifts, placing the platter on her lap and the pitcher on the organ, ignoring the fact that she might spill the water and ruin all of his notes. She ate and drank, drank and ate. Erik watched with amazingly bright yellow eyes, which glowed in the darkness.

"Christine, please forgive me." He said, his tone soft and pleading.

"Okay." She didn't care if he had tried to murder her, which he had, in a way. He had brought _food_! And _water_! All sins could be forgiven for food and water, yes?

"Christine, say I am forgiven. I have not been the mentor and parent you need. I have been a wicked creature, like you said before. I have…" He was struggling, she could see. Erik couldn't find the right words, so he just waited in patient silence for Christine to forgive him.

The young girl smiled, wiping her mouth on an orange sleeve. "You are forgiven."

"Thank you… _Oh, Christine_!" She had not seen how rigid he had been standing, stiff as a soldier; shoulders back, face forward. He dropped to his knees and took the hem of the orange dress and put it to his mouth, kissing it. He had put back on his mask, for her sake as much as his.

"Erik!" She squeaked, surprised. He took this to mean that she was disgusted at his behavior, and shrank back like a cat, eyes on the floor.

"Monsieur Angel, do not be afraid." She cooed, taking him shrinking back that he was afraid of her. They were on different wavelengths, those two. She dropped down on all floors, like a cat, and placed a hand on his shoulder. He turned his face from the floor and stared at her hard, glowing eyes deep in thought.

"Christine, I love you. How could anyone not? When I came to the Orphanage, actually looking for the daughter of Dustin Daae, the famous fiddler, not a protégé, they said I couldn't have you because you were six years old. I was furious, madder then I think I have ever been! I knew you would have a beautiful voice, like your father's but a woman's! I-"

"I am not a woman yet," Christine murmured, interrupting him.

"I know that, that is why I've made arrangements so that, on your 15th birthday, you go to finishing school. Until then, you will be the Phantomess."

"Phantomess?" Christine, too, was being thoughtful about what she said. She didn't want to question him too much.

"Yes, Christine. I am more then an angel: I am a Phantom. I govern over this opera house- that is what we are in, the cellars of an opera house- along with whomever else the government has rustled up. I haunt this opera house, the call me the Opera Ghost. O.G. That is how I sign my letters to them.

"I came here when I was your age." Christine shivered at the thought. "Having just escaped those wretched gypsies, I was open to anything that came my way. I came here because it had potential. I built my home along the lake outside- yes Christine; there is a lake underground- and composed my music. I started my life's work, Don Juan Triumphant, roughly 35, give or take, years ago. I put all my pain, all my frustration in this life, into my work. I believe what the people in the freak show believed: That there is a better life after this one, filled with people like you, Christine. See how I am not saying I love you anymore? I know it makes you uncomfortable. But, when you come back at the age of 17, after finishing school, you will be a lady, and we can be together then. I'll make the coffin bigger- oh, you don't know what I am talking about, do you? Well, _I_ don't know what I am talking about either, Christine. I guess that gives us something in common, Mon Amie. First time for everything."

Erik chuckled happily, and Christine was under the faint impression that she was living with a madman. He reached into his black pockets and took out her cloak and hood, then fastened them around her.

"Time we fetch supplies again. We need more ice-cream too. I'm afraid I've taken a liking to it, too. Ha, Christine! There's another thing! If I had to make a list, I could say you and I both have pale skin, though that is partly my fault. And, you and I both appreciate good music. And, oh, well, you'll be dead by the time I finished the list!"

He stopped himself, and then let out a bark of laughter.

"Ha! Then we'd have another thing in common! Come, Christine, come!" He took her arm and dragged her out of his music room, and, soon Christine found herself on the streets of Paris, robbing stores and stealing food, her mind almost bursting with all the thoughts it now held. 


	9. Scene Nine: Ero'd

Christine turned seven on March seventh, something that Erik had laughed at. He had said that was another thing: Irony was imprinted on both of their lives. He had taken to noting the way they were alike over the months. 

As her skin turned ghostly white, he said so.

When Christine's eyes began to glow faintly in the darkness, he said so.

As she began to shrink away from other people on the street, he said so.

When she began to sleep in the day and work in the night, he said so.

As she started to sing better, he said so.

They had been having lessons in their spare time, with obvious results. Christine's syrupy voice had been fine-tuned, the sugar in it grinded smoother, until she sang like an angel. He valued her opinion with the ultimate respect: when she said something about Don Juan Triumphant should be changed, he did so.

And that was another thing. He had recruited her to work with him on Don, and instantly, when she did, you could see the barrier between the Before Christine music and the After Christine music. The songs that she and him composed were light and sweet, the incarnate of a child's soul. The music before was dark and passionate, sounding more like sobbing then of the organ's piping cries.

Christine ate with Erik all the time now. He was staying home more often, possibly because there was more to do now. He had, in fact, taken a fondness to ice-cream; it was served with every meal.

Not once had either mentioned the 'mask episode'. It seemed better to forget it and move on. But, Christine could never forget that horrible face, and she thought she never would. In the first months after the unmasking, she had recoiled when Erik touched her, and winced when he complimented her. He had told her one-day she might get used to it, and, strangely, she half-believed him. But why did she have to be the one getting used to something?

Christine now didn't recoil form him nor wince when he spoke- but she knew, if he took off the mask again, the illusion of happiness would be shattered.

On the seventh, Erik woke her up by sitting right next to her small body on the bed and leaning over her, and then repeatedly saying 'Happy Birthday' so that she could wake up to his voice and hear the message. She smiled up at the white face, and, surprising even herself, used her elbows to raise herself up and kissed a white cheek.

Now, one does know that Erik _hated_ having to wear a mask. But, because he couldn't feel Christine's small lips on his twisted cheek, he began to loath the cupping white mask. He was almost tempted to take it off and beckon her to kiss him again, but he dared not to, not with their faces so close.

Maybe tomorrow?

Anyway, they both got up and then, shockingly, Erik presented her with a dress. It wasn't the fact that it was gorgeous that surprised Christine; no, it was more the fact that it was so black! Not like the fiery clothes that he usually presented her, no, not at all! It was soft and dark, with the top part of it being velvet, which went all the way to her waist, then ended as a V. The back of the top part was smooth and dipped into the curve of her back. The skirt, which started at the V, was a shade lighter black, and resembled a rose turned upside down. Christine told Erik to leave so that she could dress; though- once the material was covering all that needed to be covered she let him come back in to help her. Once the dress was snug to her shoulders and the skirt fluffed out a bit, she finally asked him what time it was. He said 10 o'clock in the evening, which did explain why he was wearing evening wear.

Erik had on long, crisp black pants with a lighter forest green shirt, and had a silver tie tucked into the shirt. A long black tailcoat covered all of this, accompanied with a dark felt hat. He even had a cane in his hand made of smooth mahogany wood, with a silver skull on the top of it.

When she asked why a bit of rope was hanging out of one of his pockets, all Erik said was that it was their defense mechanism. She shrugged, and followed him into the tunnels, feeling odd about leaving their cloaks behind.

To Christine's pleasure, they actually went to see the lake by the house, and she got to see the front of the house. It was nothing more then a wall with a door.

It was a great, glittering shadow of a lake, with dark water and no ripples on it, but it was a lake! "Will you teach me how to swim sometimes, Erik?" Christine asked as he helped her onto a boat. He seated her and then stood behind her, rowing with a long wooden paddle. Once they were half way across the lake, which was still calm and inky black, Erik said, "Possibly, dear Christine."

Christine grinned, and rested her back and head on his shins. It was the passing of a year that made her more affectionate to him, and that it was their anniversary: He had adopted her when she was six years old, March seventh last year. Her heart was full of adoration for her angel, which might one day actually turn to love like he had said. Possibly.

Once across the lake, Erik took Christine's hand and led her through a labyrinth of dark tunnels. All she had for comfort was the sunny glow of his golden eyes. He offered to carry her, but she declined, saying she didn't get to walk around much. Erik fell into a guilty silence.

Erik stopped, and then said in a quiet voice, "This is a ladder which leads to Box Five of the opera house. Tonight they are playing a collection of Roman and Greek myths, which I thought was fitting for you. You will sit on first chair in the first isle. I'll be there, but you won't see me for a while- understood?"

How Erik could see her nodding in the darkness she never knew.

"I will got first and sit on the ground beside the top of the ladder. Climb up to my eyes." He scaled the ladder with ease, barely taking a moment before she saw his golden eyes on top of what must be the wall. She put a hand to the stone, and felt around until she found deep holes in it for her feet. She climbed up slowly, never taking her eyes off his eyes. Once she was at the last step, Erik helped her up and both stood. Christine trembled slightly; she had just climbed a ladder she couldn't see, which perplexes the mind greatly.

He walked her over to a door, her black slippers and his black dress shoes making no noise. Erik opened it, revealing that it was the entrance to Box Five. She walked into slowly, looking nervously from side to side. Had Erik bought tickets for them, or were they just going to slip in and out? Christine turned to see if Erik would follow her, but both him and the door were gone. With a small smile, she sighed, and went to the first row to sit in the first chair, where a red rose with a black ribbon tied around it had been placed.

The Opera Populaire was a truly beautiful opera house. It had gold statues dripping off the walls, marble pillars, and elegant velvet red seats. The stage was framed with a big curtain that would fall during intermission, and above it was a wooden maze with stage crew as mice.

Christine fell into a rapt quiet, her emerald eyes wide. She had never seen an opera before! The first thing being performed was what the announcer announced to be The Creation of the World. It was Roman, she knew that, because she knew in Rome that the god Jupiter was supreme, and in Greek Zeus was. Here, Jupiter's father tried to eat him, but his mother instead threw a rock down his throat. Giggling, Christine stared as the next play went on, then the next.

Finally, one was announced to be Eros and Physce. When that was announced, Christine felt a hand on her shoulder. Looking to her side, she saw a pair of glowing gold eyes to the left of her, sitting in the second seat on the first row.

She smiled shyly, and turned to watch the opera.

Eros turned out to be a forever-young boy, the son of Venus, the goddess of love, and Mars, the god of war. He was the god of love himself, equipped with a bow and quiver of arrows. Eros told his mom how much he loved her (This earned a respectful laugh from he crowd) and then went outside- his mother had told him to use a golden love arrow on a girl named Physce so to make her fall in love with a monster, and then do the same to the monster.

Once outside, he saw a small girl, who was very… pretty. Christine felt an odd bit of jealousy, but then Erik put his hand on her's and whispered, "You are still more beautiful then Venus herself." The compliment made Christine blush in the darkness, and she had the faintest suspicion that he could see it.

_'My name is Eros'_, the boy sang. The girl looked up, and then jumped backwards. _'I am Physce.'_ She sang.

_'You are the girl that my mother hates, for you are the prettiest mortal girl, yes?'_

"Not true," Erik whispered into Christine's ear, his voice quiet and pained. He found comfort in Christine, for he held her hand tight.

_'Yes, I am the one that Venus hates.'_ Physce sighed.

_'Mother told me to make you fall in love with a monster-'_ The rest of Eros' words were drowned out, for Erik began sobbing. Christine looked at his watery gold eyes, frightened, and then she glanced around. Box Five was empty, except for them.

"Erik! What's wrong?" She whispered, turning away from the opera so that she could attend to him. His great black shoulders shook and he let out a rattling breath. It seemed like he was choking under the mask! Her movement unregistered in her mind, Christine put her fingers under the mask and flicked it off.

For a second, Erik did nothing but look at her with glossy, glowing eyes. Then he began to cry even harder, tears rolling down his charred cheeks- but, in the darkness, Christine could barely see his face, and all that she did see was, in fact, his cheeks; the only reason she did see them was because of his eyes, which were like candles held up to his face, sending light across his red skin.

"Erik!" She repeated, and put a shaky hand on the side of his head. It made her skin crawl, the feeling of his cold, dead flesh against hers, but she made herself not think about what she was feeling.

"_I'm sorry Christine!" _He cried, voice louder then it should've been. Her hand went to his mouth, shushing him. Instantly, this calmed him. He relaxed a bit, and Christine let go off his mouth, one hand still holding his securely, and one hand wiping tears off his deformed cheeks.

"The End! Next act- Remus and Romulus!" The peppy voice of the announcer echoed around the opera house walls.

Erik was talking to himself quietly. "She's Eros, she's Physce, and who am I? I'm the monster!" Once his crying turned to sniffles, Christine said, "Oh, Erik. I get it now." And she did; their story was like some sort of twisted tale of Eros and Physce. She had heard the gist of the rest of the play: Eros falls in love with Physce, and pretends he is the monster she is to love and sees her only in the dark so that she would figure out who he is. Then, one day, as Eros sleeps, Physce goes over to him with a candle to see whom she loves. Of course, she expects a monster, so she is surprised when she sees Eros instead. A bit of wax falls of her candle, and burns Eros, making him wake up. He runs away then. Of course, in the end, Physce and Eros get married…

And the monster? He gets nothing.

"Erik, lets go back home." When he didn't move, she lied, "I'm tired. You woke me up, remember? Maybe tonight we can have some ice cream and you can tell me a story, or maybe show me a card trick or two. Or, maybe, you could teach me the card trick! That would be splendid, wouldn't it, Erik? Erik? Are you listening? Oh, Erik, we shouldn't have come. I'm sorry." Christine made herself stop talking, and stood. She smoothed her skirt, then took Erik's hand once more, and used all her strength to try to get him out of the chair. Even though she hadn't succeeded in getting him up herself, it must have been some encouragement, for he stood, and straightened his felt hat.

He paused, and then went on a short search for his mask. When Christine flicked it off, it had propelled itself behind the fourth chair in the second row. With the lights coming back on due to the candles on the chandelier being lit again, Erik put back on his mask, and they left the opera house- Eros and the Monster.

* * *

She sat on the top of his coffin (It made a nice bench with the lid down) and ate the ice-cream in silence, the red curtains around the wooden coffin pulled back so that she could see Erik, whom sat by his own, personal organ. He had shown her his room when they had gotten home; it was large and draped with black, with a large stave of music with the notes of the Dies Irae against said drapes. Erik had refused to eat anymore, and he could see that he was itching to make her go to bed so that he could add another song to Don Juan Triumphant. 

Christine put the tiny crystal cup in which the cold chocolate concoction had been in on the lid beside her, then slid off the 'bench'. She walked over and kissed Erik's masked white cheek, and then went to the door. He had also shown her how to get to his room from her, in case of an emergency- it had opened her world up by a little. Now she could travel to the dining room, the room at the end of the hallways, her room, and his, whenever she wanted too.

"Wait, Christine!" Erik called out to her before she slipped through the doorway. She looked over her shoulder, rubbing her eyes slightly from tiredness.

"Good night." He said broodingly, and he turned around, placing his fingers on the ivory keys.

This time, it was Christine who called the other. "Erik, can I sleep here tonight? I'd like to hear the music. Maybe in the," She gulped, eyes flicking over to it, "the coffin?"

She could see his mask move slightly as he raised his brow. "The coffin, dearest?"

She nodded, and closed the door. Taking small steps, she went over and opened the red curtain again. Erik followed her just as timidly, watching warily as Christine climbed up and into the wooden casket. "It's not that comfortable." He added, shyly, and for a moment it seemed like Christine was the elder and he was the child.

"I don't mind. Just play." She spoke sternly, and they both smiled slightly before he dropped the red curtain. Darkness enveloped her, but it did not unleash any fear in her chest; the small envelope of darkness was warm, even if the coffin wasn't.

She decided to leave the top open, wary that she might suffocate herself if she closed it, smothered in Erik's bed of choice for all of eternity.

Christine Daae, now a girl just paddling into her seventh year, waited as she heard Erik's footsteps over to the organ, and then the sound of him sitting down.

"Would you like any words in it, dear Christine?" He asked before he started.

Christine put little thought into it. "Words." She answered solidly.

_"Sleep young child, close your eyes, don't worry about the stars in the sky… tonight, tonight, sleep and be still- in the darkness, all is tranquil… as the cat moves in for the kill…"_

_

* * *

(The title of this chapter is a bad pun :D Who here has seen Homestarrunner(dot)com? Well, they have strongbad emails, and well, pretty much, he was talking about how someone got arrow'd. I had to do Ero'd myself... since you pronounce Ero like an Arrow... becuase he uses arrows... um... lol? I'm updating for my dearest rapidfangirl67, who told me too. Loyally- Lux) _


	10. Scene Ten: A Bulk Amount of Teaching

_"I do not see why you are keeping me here…"_

_"Be quiet, be quiet, you have nothing to fear…"_

_"Nothing will come from me at all…"_

_"Better with you then waiting…"_

_"Nothing, nothing, nothing at all…"_

_"Waiting for death's ghostly call…"_

_"Nothing, nothing, nothing at all…"_

_"Echoes of whispers coming off the walls…"_

_"Echoes of whispers… nothing at all…"_

_"Nothing at all…"_

_"Echoes of whispers…"_

_"Nothing at all…"_

_"Better then waiting, waiting"_

_"Nothing at all"_

_"Waiting, waiting"_

_"Nothing at all"_

"Echoes, I hear them…!"

_"Here is the call- it is nothing at all!"_ Erik's fingers danced amongst the lower keys as his voice rose out over Christine's- they were practicing again on the piece he had written last night, a duet. In the play, the main character, Don Juan, was singing now with a small girl he had kidnapped and taken to his dark lair full of fire and demons. Don Juan said that he needed her to sing for his music, but she did not believe him; she thought something much worse was going to happen to her.

Erik had promised that the day was going to be a hard and difficult one for her; they would start basic reading lessons, and he'd teach her the alphabet (But, on the way of writing, he would not be the best mentor). Then, if they finished all of that, he would teach her how to swim.

"Sing from here, not your throat." Erik advised, touching the cloth that covered the skin, which covered her heart.

"I am singing from my heart, Erik!" She moaned, gruff from self-disappointment.

"No, I meant, sing from your chest." He turned his face to hide the smile. Christine blushed, sucked in a deep breath, and then sang "Doe!" right from her chest. The results were marvelous.  
"Tomorrow we can work on that little waver you have when you sing, on your high notes- do you know what I mean? It is nothing personal, Mon Amie, rest assure it is not." He sent her a wary look with his gold eyes.

"I know, Angel."

"Good. Now, let's teach you how to read… I didn't learn until I was here, under the opera house… I didn't have a lot to do, besides Don Juan, which tired me mentally. I only started writing it six years ago, but I had been planning it all my life."

"That is nice, Erik."

"Ah, I see that I have bored you. What book shall we start out on? Oh, here is a good one; have you ever heard of The Brothers Grim?" He pulled a book out of one of his shelves in his room- they had been practicing there since she had woken up, stiff from sleeping in the casket.

"No, Erik." Her tone was just interested enough to make him believe that she wanted to read, though she herself thought that if dogs could talk, her words were what they would say. 'Yes, Master', 'No, Master', 'If you please… Master.'

"They make up fairytales." He waited…

"Fairies have tales?" Christine asked with a little more interest. Erik knew that question had been coming.

"No, it is fairytale, as in stories about faeries, or stories about imaginary creatures, like dragons and such."

"Brothers Grim… so, two brothers wrote this?" She took the pale red book in her hand, and stared at it. All she could see was squiggly lines and curves, but she knew that they were letters in the alphabet.

"Yes. Let's begin with the story of Snow-White and Rose-Red…" He took the book and flipped through the pages, his arm around her waist, for there was not a lot of room of the little organ bench.

Erik opened the book to a page that had a picture on it of two girls. One was tall and pretty, with white hair, and the other was pale and slightly shorter, with red hair. "All good fairytales start with the words 'Once upon a time'. Once is spelled with the letters O and N and C and E. See the letter that is just a circle? That is an O. Say O."

"Oh?"

"Feel how your lips go into a little circle when you say O? That is how you remember it. You're a fabulous student, Christine."

"Thank you, Erik."

The lesson went on. At every paragraph read, Erik would double back and show her all the letters that were in said paragraph. The only letters that Christine got immediately were O, L, lowercase t, E, and I.

"With those for words you could spell… oil, lot, toll, and toil. Oh! And you could spell Lotte! Little bitty Lotte!"

Christine's eyes glittered green. "How do you spell Lotte, Erik?" Her voice had the same, demanding tone of long ago in it… she had learned not to ask too much of her guardian long ago…

"Repeat after me… L."

"L."

"O."

"O."

"T."

"T."

"T."

"We already said that one, Erik."

"There is two Ts in Lotte."

"Oh."

"No, the letter is T."

"T. Okay… I mean, I get it."

"Right. We have L, O, and two Ts now. All we need is an E to complete it."

"E!" Christine pointed out the letters in Snow-White and Red-Rose- she pointed out the letter L in the word lost, the letter O in Snow, the letter T in White, and the letter E in Rose.

"I wish my name was Rose." Christine sighed as Erik put the book away and back on the shelf. "No, Christine is a beautiful name," Her angel insisted. He was always in a happy mood when he was teaching her something, even if it took her a couple tries to get it.

"Mmm… Red-Rose is beautiful…er."

"I'm afraid I have to disagree. Rose is a pretty name for a rose, not a girl."

"But I like roses!"

"But would you like to be one?"

Knowing that she had lost the fight, Christine stopped speaking. Relishing in his triumph, Erik began the next thing he was too teach her. He did not sit down on the bench again, but, in stead, stood in the middle of the room. Then, from his pocket his fished out a long coil of rope. Slowly un-doing the loops, Erik held the golden rope in his hands.

"Oh, I remember! That is your defense mechanism!"

"Very good, child."

Christine cheeks glowed pink at his compliment.

"Now, it is only a defense mechanism because one can do this." In a flash, he had the rope twisted into a lasso-type thing and around Christine's neck. He had his hands around the knot, which could tighten or loosen it. He stood so close that Christine saw the small rise and fall of his chest as he breathed softly and quickly, his gold eyes on her face, which she knew must show all the surprise she felt.

"One can pull it tighter…" He pulled the rope around her neck closer to him, putting pressure against her throat and making her gasp at the sudden feeling of not being able to breath. Christine stumbled forward- she was a servant to the rope. She had to follow it or it would closed its twine claws around her skin… She breathed heavily.

"Or one can let it go…" He pulled back the knot, which slid down the rope, and Christine swallowed sweet air once more. "It is called the Punjab," he said quietly. "I was taught how to use it a long time ago. It has saved my life and taken many others. Would you like to learn how to use it?"

Horror filled Christine's chest. No! She couldn't learn to use that deathly rope! She was not a killer! Erik could see that she was not going to respond quickly, so he added, "You do need a weapon. Someday, someone is going to come here and try to take you away from me. I'll use this," he took the rope off from around her neck and held it in his hands, "but what will you use, for we have to be together forever- what will you use?"

Christine pondered this for a brief moment, her mind flashing images of weapons in her head. Pistol, knife, and…

"I'll use a shovel." She added, trying to keep her voice steady.

"A shovel!" Erik couldn't keep the astonishment from his voice, however. "You can't kill anyone with a shovel."

"I'm not a murderer." She echoed her thoughts. "I'll just knock them out, and then you can lasso them… yes, I'd like that. No blood at all! I'll knock 'em out," She let out a nervous laugh, "and you can snap their spines! Ha, ha!"

With that, Christine Daae fainted.

* * *

(I just had to stop the chapter there XD Like, **five** updates. **One** day. **One** sleepy Lux. I could be a frickin' reality TV show. -lux)  



	11. Scene Eleven: The Daroga is Parental

Christine came too after a while. Where was she? She was in her bed once more, floral sheets pulled snugly around her. Sighing, she remembered what had happened- she had fainted when Erik had showed her the Punjab.

Looking up, she saw Erik on the foot of her bed, mask off. A scream and his name raced to get out of her mouth first, and, as a result, she let out a little gurgled, "Rik!", which was terribly high-pitched and hurt both of their ears.

Erik sighed, and pulled the mask out of his pocket. He placed it over his face sadly, and watery gold eyes looked at her. He was depressed.

"You are not a murderer. You don't need to be." He said, his voice miserable and tender all at once.

Christine rubbed her temples, and spoke in a wavering voice, "I know, I'll just knock them out. You kill them."

"You faint when someone brings up the topic of murder, Christine. How will you be able to stand it when you must help in one; when you become my accomplice?"  
"I'll be just fine." Her voice snapped, anger in her eyes. She really did believe she would be able to help kill a man.

Erik's true reason, or so she thought, for being here came out. "But, what if you had to kill me? What if I someday turned on you, and you had to kill me with your shovel?" The ghost of a bit of good humor hovered over his voice, but she could hear his frustration, too.

"Well, how do you want me to answer?" She got up to a sitting position, tucked her feet under her legs in Indian-style, and rested her back on the bedpost. Her eyes were narrowed with the heat of a glare.

"Truthfully, I'm not sure." Erik admitted, not looking at her, but the set of Louise-Philippe drawers. "Answer that you'll learn how to kill… with your shovel… but learn to kill. Please, learn." His face snapped back over so that he could look at her, increasing the success-rate of his begging.

"Erik… I'm not sure I can…"

"See?" He was still smug that he had been right.

"But, I will try."

She held his gaze for a moment, and watched as the candle flickered and his eyes flickered brighter gold, glowing. She was being stubborn, but… anything but the Punjab.

"Okay." Oddly, a small smile played across his bluish-white lips. "I'll have to learn how to kill with a shovel too- it is a new method to me. Maybe swinging it and slicing the spade across the back of the neck?"

Christine tried to return his humor. "You do have a strange fascination with the neck, don't you, Erik?"

Before she could realize what was happening, Erik was sitting right next to her, back against the back of the bed. He had two cold fingers on the side of her neck, right above her pulse, and at his touch, Christine shivered. It was not the fact that his bare fingers were on her neck… but it was the fact that his touch was not cold… it burned.

Both could feel as her pulse quickened at an alarmingly fast pace, almost as if it had jumped at the touch too.

"The neck is nice."

It was all Erik said, all he would say- all he allowed himself to say. He left her room without another word, tears in his dim eyes, heart burning against his chest. Oh, how he loved that girl! Oh!

* * *

Christine was visited by the daroga that night, his face considerate. He had smart eyes and could think deeply, and a smile that could melt a frozen heart- like Erik's Punjab, his smile had gotten him out of tricky situations, but in a less violent way. 

"You are playing a game, you know." The elder man said as he sat on the foot of her bed. Christine, long brown hair brushed into a bun, furrowed her brows in confusion. "What do you mean, daroga?"

He smiled slightly. "You even talk like him."

"Like who?"

"Erik."

"Oh. Well, yes. One would guess I would talk like him… because, I did grow up with him."

"No," the Persian said, correcting her grammar. "You didn't grow up with him. That would be like if he was seven now too. He was there when you grew up. That is the right term."

"Oh." Christine obviously wanted the conversation to end between them. It wasn't like she didn't like the man- she did, she really did- but he was a very picky and slightly blunt; he could be very warm at times, but he could be very demanding sometimes, too. "What did you mean before, with the sentence that I am playing a game? I'm obviously not." The girl rolled her wrist, indicating that she was sitting in bed and not playing said game.

"You are playing with his mind." The daroga said softly, his dark eyes flicking from her to the walls, as if he expected them to come over and attack him. There was no need to ask who 'he' was.

There was a small stretch of quiet, and then Christine asked, "Why does he let you come down here, anyway? Last time you came here was a year ago, and Erik beat you up, didn't he?"

A wry smile came upon the Persian's lips. "Yes, he did. Had to swear I'd never come back down, otherwise he would've Punjab-ed me. You know what the Punjab is?" Christine's plastered on smile faltered, and he took this as a yes.

"Then, why do you still come here? And why aren't you dead?"

"Are you wishing for me to be dead?"

"No, Monsieur."

The Persian stretched, and itched his cheek, buying time. "Well, he asked for me to come talk to you. It was either Madame Giry, or I, and she hasn't been down here yet- Erik wanted to spare her the pleasure of doing so." The last part was a bit cynical, but Christine understood. "What does he want us to talk about?"

"Playing games." The Persian got up. "Though, pretty much, I can either make this very brief or very long. Since I am restless of just staying in this one room- I would like to explore- I will make it brief: Don't mess around with Erik. He often says that if he gets an idea in his head, he carries it out until either A, he fails or succeeds, or B, he kills someone. That was the case with you, actually. He had the idea that if a girl were the daughter of a famous fiddler, then she'd be good at music herself. And, so, he went off to find you, saying that he needed someone to sing with. Of course, he fell in love with your voice, which he says he has already told you, so I do hope I'm not the first one to mention Erik and his… feelings."

Christine nodded silently.

"And you pretty much know the rest. Though, quiet currently, something has disturbed our dear friend: he realizes that the older you get, the more independent you will be. Just when you mentioned that you'd like to use the shovel and not anything else, Erik got very, very afraid. For, you see, he is used to being on top. He has not yet had to pit his mind against youth. And, I think we all know that youth would win."

The daroga stopped. "I'm afraid that I've taken up much of your precious free time. Good night, Mademoiselle Daae." With a tip of his hat, the Persian left her room. Christine sighed slightly, and curled up into a ball.

At least she was winning the game, right?

* * *

_("And you know nothing can restrain Erik, not even Erik himself."_

_Erik, Phantom of the Opera, Gaston Leroux version._

_ PS: the song they were singing in the last chapter is something I wrote. No stealing.) _


	12. Scene Twelve: Good Night

"Swing it more to the left, Christine."

Erik and Christine were shovel fighting, their spades clashing over and over, though Christine's wooden pole had gotten some nasty slash marks on it from Erik's passionate attacks.

Both were new at this, but, of course, Erik was already wonderful at it, and Christine was…well… _not._

Christine ducked down swiped at his feet, but he simply tapped her bowed head and she was knocked down. They were practicing by the lake, and her shovel slid across the sandy, rocky shore towards the inky water. Erik, his cloak swirling around his shoulders, plucked up the shovel before it could drop into the lake.

"Christine, are you angry at me? Anger is not something to keep in a practice arena. Perfect practice makes perfect fights- don't listen to the rubbish their saying about that if you practice enough you'll get good. Not true, Mon Amie- and I do think you're angry with me."

"I'm not," Christine lied, getting up and rubbing the back of her head. She took her shovel from him briskly, but, before she could go, Erik grabbed her arm, which was covered in orange silk from the dress she was wearing; she only got a leave from the fiery dresses on her birthdays, Erik had said.

"Christine, I demand you to tell me what is wrong." Erik's voice was gentle enough, but Christine knew if she denied telling him her problem he would get a little too frustrated.

"I'm mad that you're already so good at fighting with a shovel." She admitted, and slipped her arm from his. Wearing the slippery silk did have its advantages. "Happy?" She added, a bit more bitterly.

"Oh, Christine," He sighed. "You have time to practice. Your young- you have time."

Christine turned, and gripped her shovel a bit more tightly. Then, she lunged, slapping his side with the spade viciously. Erik was stunned, and stumbled back… back into the lake.

"Erik!" Christine screamed, dropping the shovel and running towards the lake. He had disappeared into the black water, not a single ripple on the surface indicating what had happened.

"Erik! You haven't taught me to swim yet!" Christine yelled at the surface, thinking that he might be able to hear her.

But, nothing happened.

Christine waited for him to reappear at the surface, brown locks of hair pressed damply against his head, lips spitting out water… but nothing happened.

Christine put her fingers into the water. It was amazing water, she had to admit- most of it was freezing, but there were drifts of warm water swirling around in the black basin.

Fear made her brave. Christine jumped in, and, almost instantaneously, the icy water closed over her head, and she was left, yet again, in darkness.

She tried to say his name, but only precious bubbles drifted out of her mouth. She was lost… lost without any air… she was going to die. She clawed at the water, tried to swim up… but, she couldn't swim… and where was up?

Then, she felt something grabbing her, pulling her somewhere; she closed her eyes and let it. She really had no choice.

Her dizzy head soon broke the surface of the water, and she coughed out the blackness that choked her. The thing that held her brought her to the shore, and put her softly on top of it. Then, it pushed on her chest roughly. She coughed up more water.

Erik lay beside her once she was down coughing, wet arms around her. She put her head against his chest, relishing in the security she felt when she was beside him. "I'm sorry," she whispered, and he forgave her by holding her tighter to him- he too was scared. He had almost lost her- she had almost lost him.

"Erik?" She murmured, feeling weakness turn to sleepiness in her mind.

"Shh… save your breath… sleep now…" He whispered in reply.

"Erik… I love you…"

His chest stopped moving up and down as his breath caught in his shock. Happy, Christine let herself fall asleep.

* * *

Erik dressed their wounds the next few days; he healed the spot where she had smacked him with her spade, and then took Christine out for fresh air whenever she asked for it. The cold, autumn air cleared her head of all of the black water's fogginess. Erik sang to her more, his songs more beautiful then before. They worked on Don Juan Triumphant sparingly, also- but an odd stiffness had fallen between him, wrecking thier hard work. Erik grew somber and brooding. Christine winced every time she thought of her careless words: _I love you?_ Why had she said that? 

One day, as they sat in the carriage that took them around Paris whenever she asked for it, Christine's mind wondered. Wind blew at her hair through the open window, and she gazed longingly at the open countryside, with its rolling jade-colored hills, dotted with white flowers.

Christine's mind wandered out far enough from her body that it thought about how it would be like at finishing school. She was sure she'd always be surrounded by beauty, other women, and flowers- not now, when she was trapped in the stone walls with only the Persian and Erik as company… and the only flower she ever knew were Erik's blood-red roses with the black ribbons tied around them.

Though she cherished the man next to her… she longed for the rolling green hills with their tiny white flowers… she longed for strolls in the park under pale indigo skies… and so, Christine sent one look at Erik, who was gazing at the country flashing past at not her, and then she looked back out her window.

And Christine wished to be at finishing school, which was, in her mind, perfection.

* * *

The fit image of fourteen-year-old Christine Daae came into view, her newly cut brown hair swishing over shoulders swathed in pure black. A shovel was strapped across her back, and she was talking swiftly with a man that resembled a pole- he was long, tall, and terribly slender. They walked in broad daylight, cutting through crowds of people who stared after them. 

She had needed a haircut, so he had dame it happen.

"It's like they've never seen ghosts before!" Christine whispered a whisper that anyone but Erik wouldn't have been able to hear. He smiled, though his hood hid his face from view- but she could feel the air lighten suddenly as he grinned. She was always able to tell.

"It is hard to think that you are leaving tomorrow." Eirk murmured back, a bit louder for her less sensitive ears. Christine nodded, forcing down the lump that had risen in her throat. For years she had been with Erik, slowly but steadily becoming smarter… not too mention lethal.

"You are the reason I am leaving, you know. If you hadn't signed me up for finishing school…" She trailed off with a cheeky smile. They were two arrogant people who were constantly together- it was a simple fact that they'd get in fights. The image of the sharply cut opera house came into view, the statues on top of it glistening gold and silver in sunlight, their silhouettes barely visible from where the two were.

They slipped into a garden, then to the hole in the wall. Through tunnels and tunnels of darkness they went, Christine depending on Erik to lead her through. Her eyes were responsive to the dark, but she did not know the way through the corridors.

When they were back in her room, seated on her bed, Christine let a small sniff of sorrow out. All other emotions were okay- happiness, anger, pride- but sadness was the one feeling both had tried to push from their lives in their last dwindling months together.

"I will… miss you." Erik whispered, taking off his black cloak to reveal his only white shirt and black pants. He folded the cloak and put it to his side, then fixed his pale gold eyes on hers.

"I will miss you too." She put a hand on his, taking off the silk glove so that she could hold his real hand. She had taken comfort in it, just like he had in her fingers long ago. She could almost look at his face and not wince, too. His cold skin was nice, always cold against her always-warm flesh.

"Do you promise that you'll write to me, poor, sad, lonely Erik?" He asked.

"If you promise to always write back."

He said nothing.

"Promise?"

"I'll try. But, writing frustrates me. And I do not always feel like drawing blood." His eyes wondered to the ornate wall hanging of flowers and birds that draped over a wall. Larks, finches, and cardinals, their chirps hushed, posed for the hanging.

Christine used her other hand to loosen the stripe of cloth tied around the shovel to keep it to her back. "Won't be needing this." She handed him the long stick of wood with the iron spade on top, and then looked away.

Then, Christine did something that she had not done since she was very young. She flung her arms around her angel and clung to him, sobbing. He stroked her hair, and told her how pleasant it would be at school, and how she would get to meet other people. He said this in a very encouraging way.

"But, I want to stay with you!" She cried, tears soaking the white cloth across his chest. "I know… I know… but this is for your own good! You will always be my little phantomess, Mon Amie."  
"And you will always be my Angel." She wiped away the tears, but did not move her head from his torso. She could hear something that resembled a heartbeat there, beating for her to hear.

"Good. But, it is time you sleep." His voice was stern, fatherly. He put an arm around her waist, and on hand still held hers.

"Can I sleep in the coffin tonight?"

Erik hesitated. He wanted her in his room with him the last night badly- he didn't even have to be near her, just for her to be there would be heaven! Her warmth would stay on the cold wood for all the years that she would be gone. But then Christine might not feel good in the morning… maybe he would just go to her bed…

"I'm sorry, but no. You have to get up early, and the coffin is not a nice place to sleep. You are always stiff after, yes?"

Christine sighed sadly, and leaned up so that she could kiss a white cheek. "Yes, Erik. Good night, Monsieur Angel."

"Good night, protégé."

_End of part one: Protégé_

_

* * *

__("One can get used to everything… if one wishes…"_

_Erik, __Phantom of the Opera, Gaston Leroux version._

_End of Part one! Wow! At this time, I'd like to thank my loyal reviewer rapidfangirl67, whose always reviewed when no on else has. :sniffle: _

_ Okay. Part two coming up soon, even if I only have one reviewer! Also, I'm going to come back once I'm done with the story and write much more in this part, but for now I'm moving on. I can't help it, I want to write about the Phantomess. But, can't now. Must... move... on..._

_**Cheers**__ -Lux) _


	13. Act II, Scene One: Queen of Spades

**Mon Aimé Eros**

_Part two: A Lady_

Morning came to soon for Christine Daae, who awoke to Erik's gentle hand on her cheek; his silky black fingers cool on her cheek.

"Dawn is just breaking and the carriage driver is here. You'll be at the school by noon, at the least. Have you packed?"

It was a stupid question, since he had helped her to put her clothes and such into a trunk, but Erik was going through a list in his head of things he needed to ask- like a mental checklist.

"Yes, Erik." Christine was stirring, and slowly dragged a hand through her messy brown hair, loosening any little knots.

"Are you sure you have everything? Corsets, brushes, stockings…?" Christine blushed and nodded. Erik had started buying her 'feminine necessities' when she was thirteen.

"I got you this…" He reached into one of his never-ending pockets and pulled out a little garden spade and a deck of cards. "The phantom-on-the-road kit. I would've had a coil of rope." He smiled slightly, and handed her the two objects. She placed them on her bed and got out from between the warm blanket, wincing as the colder air in her room hit her. "I'm fine." She told Erik before he could ask why she winced.

He left her to dress- she'd take a bath when she got there, he had said- and honestly comb out her hair.

She met him in the dining room, him wearing all black, the cape, and the mask, her wearing his favorite orange silk dress and elbow-length white gloves. The gloves were embroidered with a small, black, 'E' under each wrist, the E covering the spot where one could see a distinctly blue vein leading up to one's palm. She had promised him to always wear these gloves- he had said that her arms were his and his alone. She had chuckled at this; the only part of her body that he was protective was, and it was her arms!

He led her through the tunnels, her trunk wheels squeaking slightly. She would not be hungry for a couple of hours- she had stopped eating breakfast long ago. Finally, he stopped in front of a gate made of bars, which opened up to one of the many alleyways beside the opera house.

"Remember, pay the driver 20 francs, and be good. Write to me when you are all settled in, okay?" His voice was showed that he scared that something would happen to her on the way to the school.

"I will be fine, Erik. I love you." The three words came so much easier then they had when she was seven years old by the lake.

"I love you too, Christine." Erik whispered sadly, golden eyes glowing. Christine went in to kiss his white masked cheek, but then she changed her coarse a bit, a pressed her lips gently against the skin left of his mouth.

She knew if she didn't leave soon she never would, so, clutching her trunk, she opened the gate and stepped out into the sunlight.

The ride to the finishing school was uneventful. The large white horses pulling the carriage were lithe and strong, and their hooves were almost silent. Christine had her arms crossed in her lap, holding the pack of cards and garden spade tightly.

She finally opened the cards, sniffling slightly. When she pulled out the cards… she blinked in confusion. Expecting to see the big ace of spades on the top of the cards, instead she saw…

Christine blinked, her heart falling towards her feet. In her trembling hands she held the Queen of Spades.

* * *

Rose's School for the Unfinished Woman was just as fancy as it sounded. It was a four-story building in the middle of countryside full of rolling green hills and white flowers. It was a large, tall building painted dull shades of pink and lavender, and had two gold statues of Apollo playing his lyre at the entree way, still eyes watching all that went through the doors. Madame Rose, the Headmistress of the school, was a tight and elderly woman with silvery brown hair and dark, eagle-like eyes. Her daughter and granddaughter, Madame Giry and Meg, also helped run the school. 

Madame Rose now showed Christine the levels of the school. The first story was where the teachers slept and where the kitchen was. The second story was classrooms, and so was the third. Finally, the fourth story was the girl's quarters. Christine, since she came late, was to share a room with Meg herself, since Meg before had had a room to herself, and all the other rooms already had had two girls in it.

Meg turned out to be a fair young girl with wispy blonde hair and a fawn's brown eyes. She minded her own business as Christine moved in and set up her things in the bathroom and around the room in general. Finally, as Christine put the last of the fiery clothes into her set of drawers, Meg spoke.

"I'm Megan Giry, but most call me Meg." She had a soft voice, too. Christine looked up, and pushed a strand of brown hair nervously behind an ear. "I'm Christine Daae." She found herself whispering.

"Eh?" Meg said, not being able to hear her new roommate.

"Call me Christine." Christine repeated, shivering slightly. She hadn't realized how embarrassing it would be to meet girls her own age again! Before, she had had loads of friends, but that was when she was six. Now, she was fifteen (It was March seventh), and it seemed like she would never be able to get over this sudden, crippling timidity!

"Where do you come from?" Meg sat on the foot of her bed, legs neatly crossed under a casual white dress.

"Um… I used to live with… Erik…ah…"

"You used to live with a woman named Erika?"

"Right!" Christine beamed, relieved beyond measure. "I lived by the opera house, in Paris."

"Oh? I work there in the summers for some extra francs in my pocket. My mom really teaches ballet there, and I'm training to be a ballerina."

When Meg said 'ballerina', Christine's mind flashed to an image of a stick-thin girl in a fluffy pink dress. "Sounds like fun," she lied with a smile.

"Well, lunch is in an hour, and then play practice. Auditions for Romeo and Juliet are coming up. Rumor is that they've got Raoul as Romeo." Meg winked.

"Who?" Christine blushed slightly at the fact she had no idea who the viscount was.

Meg didn't seem to mind; in fact, it seemed like just talking about him excited her. "His name is Raoul de Chagny, and he is the younger brother of Philippe de Chagny, who is the patron of the opera house you live by and also supports this school. Though, Raoul is to die for! He's got hair the color of the sun, and bright, sparkling blue eyes, and a rosy complexion- Lily thinks he looks like a girl, but she doesn't know anything!" Meg put a hand over her heart, and fell backwards onto her bed with a dreamy sigh. Christine giggled girlishly, and then went to the door. Both knew Meg would never get Raoul, since he was such higher class then her, but it was a nice thought.

"I'm going to go exploring."

"That's a good idea. I've got a pad of paper and a pen if you would like to write Erika."

Christine paused, hand on the doorknob. "I don't know how to write." She mumbled, but Meg heard her. Christine hadn't realized that there might be a problem in writing to Erik if she couldn't write in general.

"Oh! Well, mama will teach you! And we do practice cursive here, but, it would probably be best if you know how to write first…"

"I think I can manage… I mean, I can read…" Christine opened the door, desperate to flee from this conversation, to escape.

"Oh, well, then you can write! I'll get out a basic alphabet for you to look onto when you write your Erika, and, well, you'll learn in no time!"

The corner of Christine's lips turned up a bit. It was comforting to have such a positive person around her. "Well, we can always go to lunch early. Did Erika ever let you have coffee? I must say, it's the devil's drink- scorching hot and ever so addicting! Makes you all jittery if you drink it! You must try some!"

* * *

(Part Two has begun! I love writing about Meg. And the daroga. They will be in the same room someday! I hope you find this chapter just as good as the first- I love Meg's last line. She's talking about how hot and addicting coffee is, then she just goes off about how Christine must try some XD 

Ah, and, I would like to give a shout out to some people who _made my day_: Blaise-White, Adora's World, Novembermorn, and, of course, Rapidfangirl67. The next chapter, what I think is my best chapter so far, will be up here VERY soon! -lux)


	14. Brooding: No One Would Listen

Erik sat by his lake, hands idly smoothing the water over, causing ripples to ripple in the surface.

"_No one would listen… no one but her… heard as the outcast hears…"_

Tears criss-crossed his tormented cheeks, sometimes falling into crevices in the skin. The daroga had visited him earlier, telling him to eat something, and reminding him that his obsession was unhealthy still. Erik had thrown a vase, a fork, and some encyclopedia at his old friend, causing him to flee across the lake in the boat.

Christine was gone. Gone like a bird let out of a cage. Gone like the wind through an opened window. Gone like his heart. Gone like his mind.

In his mind he could hear the music he would've put to this song; a strong piano would be playing, and the lightest, faintest shadow of an organ, just accenting the piano, not overshadowing, accenting.

His fingers twitched in the water as if they had keys underneath them. _"Shamed into solitude… shunned by the multitude…"_ Erik glanced over his shoulder, suddenly nervous that someone would hear him. He didn't want anyone to know how weak he felt all of a sudden, how alone.

_Do you promise that you'll write to me, poor, sad, lonely Erik?_

Was she really gone? The only light in this horrible darkness? She had wondered why he had dressed her in reds and golds, but she never wondered out loud. She knew he had his reasons. And the reason was that he had always been trying to tell her that she was his beautiful light. His fire.

_If you promise to always write back._

But she had never understood.

"_I learned to listen, in my dark my heart hears music."_ And it was true. He stopped singing, listening. His heart, suddenly very much so alive again, cried with anguish.

Echoes of whispers coming off the walls…

"Echoes of whispers… nothing at all." He reminded himself, and stole a glance at the framed sketch of a row of ballerinas that sat on one of his many tables beside this part of the lake. They had been practicing ballet that day, and he had been practicing drawing. He had drawn their tiny legs, tutus, and curls of hair as they stretched, hands clasped on the side beam connected to the mirrored wall for support. He also had drawn Madame Giry, stiff and strict in her dark dress with the pointed shoulders. She had always fit the part of 'mourning widow', even after years passed since Charles died.

One of the ballerinas he recognized as Meg Giry. Her hair was light, and her legs made a right angle with the wall, one foot on the pole connected to the mirrors. Her light, sketchy hair fell across her face, and Erik had smeared dark lead against her body to form the little, poofy dress she had been wearing.

What would they think of their Phantom now, if they could've seen him? The great Opera Ghost, crying that a girl had left his home and had gone off to school.

"_I long to teach the world, rise up and reach the world!"_ He got up, pulling his hand from the water, and strode over to one of the many tables. On the table stood a little Christine statue she had carved herself over the years for him. She had announced that his birthday was to be March Eighth, so that she could celebrate for him. She had asked him what he would like for his birthday, and he had smiled gently and replied 'Miss Daae'. Of course, Miss Daae took this literally and carved a little marble statue out of one of his old Venus statues that had been in her room. Erik never knew how she could do it with no mirrors, no help, and no art lessons; but, soon enough, she had presented him with a tiny Miss Daae on his 'fourth' birthday- of the fourth birthday she had celebrated with him.

"_No one would listen… I alone could feel the music…"_ Could Christine hear his voice right now, wherever she was in the world? Did she even want to?

"_Then at last a voice in the gloom seemed to cry, 'I hear you! I hear your fears, your torment and your tears'…"_ His hand smoothed the already smooth white curls of Christine's stone hair, and his eyes turned a gleaming gold.

"_She saw my loneliness, shared in my emptiness…"_ His thoughts turned to memories as he remembered the days when it was just her and him, all alone, talking of how the world seemed to turn a cold shoulder to the people living underneath it. She soon feared and hated the people of above, but he could tell she longed to be with them, to be 'normal'.

She was, as he said, only sharing the emptiness with him. The meaninglessness. The torture of being so cold.

"_No one would listen… no one but her… heard as the outcast hears…"_ Another instrument, possibly a woodwind, would come in then, taking its solo rightfully. The organ was still playing, just accenting, of course.

Erik's bare fingers slid over her face, slid over the lips that had touched his mask so many times, and finally his chin. She at first had thought his mask was actually his skin. He smiled at this, but the smile hesitated, and faded into a frown.

He broke the frown. _"No one would listen…"_ He found that his voice was trembling._ "No one but her…"_ Tears began to crisscross his repulsive face. _"Heard as the outcast hears…"_

(Ah. I got a sudden inspiration while writing Part Two to write about Erik all alone once Christine leaves. What was this inspiration? It was finding disk two of PotO, full of fun-ness! Of course, I had to write about No One Would Listen, which is now, like, one of my favorite Phantom songs. Kudos to Andrew Lloyd Webber, who has full credit for the lyrics of the song (I think). Anyway, I also cracked up listening to 'cast and crew singalong'... but, what I thought was terribly sad... was that Erik was singing 'no one would listen', and the song got put on the second disk, not in the movie. Irony at its best, Phangirls.

-Lovingly, Lux)


	15. Scene Two: A Chagny Meeting

Meg took Christine's hand, which was still in the glove, in her own and led her through the hallways. It seemed like Christine would never get any alone time. As if she could hear her thoughts, Meg added, "I'll let you go after lunch." 

Christine nodded, and tucked a strand of brown hair behind an ear. The hallways were nothing like the hallways she knew and loved at the house by the lake- here, everything was a soft pink and lavender, paneled with wood and framed with white paint. Pictures of flowers and girls in tutus were splayed across the walls.

Meg led her down a staircase of fine, polished wood, then into another hallway. Finally, they reached a big doorway with no door in it so that one could just walk through the rectangle and be inside…

"The dining room. This is the dining room." Meg pushed Christine though the doorway. Christine's eyes stung from the sudden brightness of the room, which had a sparkling crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling. "Grandma has a thing for chandeliers. There's another one in the theater next to this building, out back. If the weather stays nice- Mama said it might storm- then I'll go show you it. Oh, never mind, that's where play practice will be!" Meg said all of this as she led Christine to one of the ten mahogany tables in the big room. Girls sat sparingly around it, dipping soup and munching on bread. All of their backs curved in a perfect arch, their chins were raised, and their hands never wavered as they brought a full spoon of soup to their lips.

'They look like zombies,' Christine's inner-voice told her with a smile.

"I'll go get the food." Meg gestured to a wall, which has a system of trays, cauldrons of soup, and ladies with ladles by it. "Do you like potato soup? Extra creamy. The ladle-ladies here make the best potato soup in all of France!" Her voice was convincing. Christine said yes.

As she waited for Meg to return, Christine shyly talked to the girls around her. She learned their names- Lily Bowswith, Carmen Sharton, and Ginger Delayla. She knew random facts about them by the time Meg returned: Ginger was Irish, Carmen loved to act, and Lily was dreadfully shy and didn't reply loud enough for Christine to hear.

Meg handed Christine a bowl of soup and a silver spoon. She then swept her blonde hair over a shoulder, arched her back delicately, and began to eat with all the grace of a truly finished lady.

Christine attempted at this act of gracefulness, but failed immensely. She tried to arch her back, but that strained her shoulders, so she slumped slightly. Her hand shivered as she tried to bring the soup to her mouth, causing soup to fall into her lap. Snatching a napkin, Christine put it over her legs to protect it further from any falling potatoes.

"I'm done now." Meg announced, and got up, leaving her bowl on the table. "Oh, someone will come and get it, don't worry Christine. Lets go meet Ra- I mean, go to play practice." Meg winked, and Christine felt her heart flutter with excitement. In her mind's eye, she imagined what Raoul could look like. Meg had said that he had golden hair… blue eyes… rosy cheeks… and, soon enough, they were outside of the school building. Fresh air swirled around Christine's head, and she breathed deeply. The air smelled of flowers and rain, crisp after the small shower. A big building painted in brown and blacks stood behind some of the emerald green hills. On one side, the words 'Rose's Theatre' were painted in gleaming, gold paint, and on all the other sides there were big, magenta roses.

Meg led Christine over a hill, their footsteps soft against the grass, and into the building. Inside, the lights were dim, but still Christine gaped. There were rows and rows of velvet red seats, with a giant stage at the end of the rows. Huge, thick, scarlet curtains waited to be pulled and pushed back to hide and open the stag, and golden statues dripped over every wall.

"Mama said that Grandma was inspired by the Populaire when she constructed this building with all her sons, husband, and cousins," Meg whispered. Christine felt a rush of dark sorrow fall into her stomach as she remembered the night of her seventh birthday- that had been her only trip to theater.

Meg didn't seem to notice that Christine hadn't replied. She dragged her new friend to the stage, were a collection of people stood clustered together.

"That's my mom, right there." Meg pointed to Madame Giry. "And that's the director, Charlie." She pointed to a man with dark hair. "And that's-"

_"Raoul."_ Christine supplied, eyes wide. "Oh, my. He's… handsome." Christine's voice was strangled.

Raoul de Chagny, the youngest of the Chagny line, was a fair-skinned boy with long, golden hair which he held in a ponytail, bright blue eyes, and enough posture to make an army general squirm. He had sleek shoulders and big hands, and he wore fine-tailored clothes.

"Oh, Ra-_aoul_!" Meg called, giggling and waving. He turned around, sighed, and smiled. "Yes, Mademoiselle Giry?" He strode over, and Christine's heart sped up. She pressed her palms together tightly, as if the pain could keep her connected to the world and not drifting off into a daydream.

"This is Christine Daae. She's new here. Say hi, Christine." Meg prodded her ribs, earning a squeaky 'hi' from her companion. Raoul's eyes glittered with amusement.

"And now you lift your hand for him to kiss." Meg whispered loudly, and Christine did so, eyes never leaving his perfect face. He took her hand, not bothering to ask why she was wearing a glove.

She scarcely felt his lips through the white cloth. Hate for the gloves burned raw in her mind. She thought she could take off the glove and beckon him to kiss her again, but then she'd just look desperate.

Maybe tomorrow?

"It is a _pleasure_ to meet you, Mademoiselle Daae." Did she imagine that his gentle voice turned softer when he said 'pleasure', or was she just acting blinded by her sudden feelings for the blonde boy?

"Well, I have to go talk to mama," another stolen wink from Meg, "you two keep talking." She flicked her glossy hair over a shoulder, and flounced off to her mother. Christine distinctly heard a 'Yes, Meg, what do you want?' from Madame Giry.

Christine smiled.

"You have a beautiful smile." Raoul said, and then added, "I do hope you don't think me bold, but…" He touched her cheek gingerly. Christine blushed as her instinct made her duck her head, hiding from his touch.

"Oh, Mademoiselle, I am sorry." He said, slightly begging. He did not want her to feel ill feelings toward him, or to hate him, for that matter.

"Call me Christine, Monsieur." Christine said, and lifted her head back up, so she could look at his breathtakingly blue eyes.

"Only if you call me Raoul." Raoul grinned. "How long have you been here?"

"I just arrived." She felt a bit of embarrassment at her words. Raoul blinked in surprise. "Oh? It seems like could pass for already being finished."

How did he know the path to her heart was flattery?

"Well, I wouldn't say that…" Christine's smile widened. She was an odd girl, coy at times, like an imp at others.

"I hope your trying out for the play?" Raoul asked her. Christine nodded. "I'm hoping to get Juliet…" She trailed off when she realized it would now seem she was trying out for the lead to be with him.

"Actors! Actresses! Come, come! Tryouts right now!" Madame Giry called out, and all their heads turned to them. Before Raoul left, he said softly for just her ears, _"So do I"_, and then departed.

Christine slipped through the crowd so that she could stand next to Meg. "Meg, let me pay you. I brought a thousand francs-"

"You brought a thousand francs!"

"Don't interrupt me. Just… let me pay you for introducing me to Raoul."

Meg smiled, and slung an arm around Christine's thin shoulders. "If you'd like, _Mademoiselle Daae_."

They both giggled.

* * *

(Ah! Oh no! Raoul comes in! Come on, how can you not like him though, in this chapter? Breaks my heart when I think of the fate I have planned for him. _:sigh: _Anyway, I hope you all liked this. 24 reviews! Wow! Two announcements: One good, one bad. The bad news first: I won't be able to update as fast because school is winding down and getting hard. Good news: Everyone, read Elainie, by The Scorpion. She is the best PotO writer I've seen so far! And Elainie gave me the chills. You all must read it! -_LL_)  



	16. A Scene in Two Parts: My Rag Doll

_Scene Sixteen: I'm a Rebel_

"Well, come on, Miss Daae." Madame Rose hovered about the stage, eyes like an eagle's watching as Christine thought of an answer to her question: Why do you think Juliet acts the way she does?

Her eyes skipped to Raoul, who was watched her as penetratingly as Madame Rose, maybe even more so. "I," she swallowed, "think Juliet acts so because she is in love. Or, if not love, infatuation. Or, if not infatuation, then it is lust for Romeo. Also, there must be a thrill because their families are feuding and she shouldn't be with him- she's being a rebel."

"Do you think you are fit to be a rebel? Pardon me, Mademoiselle, but you are a dainty one." Madame Rose's fan flitted as she tried to relieve herself from heat no one else felt.

"I'm a rebel." Christine murmured, and her large green eyes shifted from the Madame to Raoul, who was smiling vaguely up at her from a seat before the stage.

"Show some spirit!" The Madame snapped, making Christine's back straighten and her eyes tear away from Raoul. Something snarled inside her, and passion mingled with her blood- her rapidly beating heart pumped the blood to each vein, and her skin tingled with exhilaration.

"O Romeo! O Romeo! Wherefore art thou Romeo?" She roared, and raised her fist to the ceiling, shaking it. "Deny they father! Refuse thy name!" Her fervent voice stopped. That was all she knew. She bowed her head, blushing fiercely, not daring to look at anyone.

"That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet…" Raoul stood from his seat, walked through the aisle, and hopped on the stage. He took Christine's sweaty hand, and held it to his cheek.

"But still not as sweet as Juliet…" Dazzlingly blue eyes bore down upon her, and, unknowingly, her fingers uncurled and spread across his face, the white satin of her glove soft against his slightly freckly skin.

"Deny thy father! Refuse thy name! Live in peace with each other the same! Two lives as fresh as summer dew- so young, so naive, and oh so new! Can feuding families stop under monarchy's word? It doesn't seem possible; it seems absurd!

"Can love conquer all, will it triumph? Someda-"

Christine stopped her singing as her mind swam with thoughts of Don Juan Triumphant. She jumped back from Raoul, who had taken her in his arms (surely just for show), and looked wildly around.

He's there; he's always there. He must have been watching… he must be watching…

"ERIK!" She bawled, and Raoul took a step forward, his eyes wide with confusion and fear. "Who's Erik?" He asked, but she did not answer with words.

Instead, Christine pulled off the silky white glove covering her left arm, and fell into Raoul's welcome arms, sobbing.

He held the weeping Christine close, and gestured for Madame Rose and Madame Giry to come forth so they could handle this. 'Must be an old boyfriend, or something of the likes,' Raoul told himself, a bit of worry fluttering in his chest. 'Christine must have been abused by him- yes, that makes sense. And now she feels like she is betraying him. Oh, that makes sense! So much sense!'

But his reassurance didn't help. Especially when the weeping Christine held up her shaking arm, putting it close to his face.

_Erik's_

Christine then dropped the arm, and jabbed two fingers around the back of her neck. She was looking for a place… Erik had taught her this…

A wave of blissful darkness fell over her as she fainted, shuddering slightly, against Raoul's welcoming chest.

* * *

_Brooding: Erik? Erik? _

'Erik? Erik? Erik can't be a real man. He's just a person. Maybe an opera singer that she has a crush on.'

He cringed.

"Meg, are you sure she said Erika?" He asked for the umpteenth time. The girl rolled her bright brown eyes, and shifted from where she leaned up against the wall. She was a flirt, Mademoiselle Giry, but at least the was concerned for her new friend.

"What I just can't get," Meg said, ignoring Raoul's last comment, "is that Christine is so good at singing! I think she made that song right up… oh… how did it go? Deny thy father… refuse thy name…" Meg hummed, eyes fluttering shut in concentration.

"Mademoiselle Giry! Pay attention! Is there anyone named Erik at the Opera Populaire?"

Meg stopped humming and slouched forward slightly, hair falling over one shoulder. Her mother would've slapped her across the cheek for such posture.

"They say _his_ name is Erik." Meg whispered, then leaned back again. By Raoul's wide eyes, she knew her lowered voice and lashes had reeled him in.

"_Him?_ Who's _him_?" Raoul's heartbeat stirred. So, there was another man! Oh, what was he saying? He had known Christine for only a day, and half of that day she had been unconscious! He couldn't claim her like so! And he wasn't allowed to be jealous!

"The Opera Ghost."

Meg loved the way the words sounded on her tongue, the way they came out of her mouth. She was a meaningless gossip, though she never did tire of talking of the infamous Phantom.

"The Opera Ghost?" Raoul fell weakly into a chair, mind spinning. The Opera Ghost! The Opera Ghost owned Christine!

"That's absurd! It must be an ex boyfriend, maybe a fiancé who abused her? The scars look old-" He got up, knees barely supporting his upper body, and took Christine's arm in his hands. The sleeping girl did not awake. "And in child's script."

"She said she didn't know how to write." Meg leaned forward and peered at the scribbled letters, all thin and seeming to glow red.

"It can't be the Opera Ghost."

"No, Monsieur."

"It doesn't make any sense."

"No, Monsieur."

"Meg, are you listening?"

"No, Monsieur."

She smirked, and got up, wandering over to Christine's bed. She looked very peaceful when she slept, unlike when she had been awake and crying over this mysterious 'Erik'.

"I don't think she'll ever get to go to classes." Meg clucked her tongue. " And I think you should take her out once she's awakened. Fresh air would do her good. When you think about it, sewing doesn't seem that important."

"It makes an aristocrat, Megan." Raoul said softly, touching Christine's sticky brow. He found one of her clammy hands and held it. He wanted her to wake so that he could spend time with her, talk with her. She was so beautiful! But, his heart glowed with hatred for whoever Erik must be… obviously, Christine did not want to be his! Obviously!

"I'm _not_ an aristocrat. And since when have you called me Megan?" Her fawn-brown eyes fixed on his golden ponytail as she tugged it playfully. "You have to leave her sometime. I bet mama would let you have some of her wine, if you'd like. And maybe we can go catch fireflies out in the hills?" Meg's normally suggestive and enticingly sweet voice was light and caring instead. She loved Raoul, just like a brother- well, maybe a little bit more. They had been friends since childhood, when she had been playing in the hills and her scarf flew away in the wind.

Not really caring, Meg had gone on playing. But, soon enough, a charming little blonde boy had come prancing up, the red scarf clutched in his pale hands. They had been friends ever since.

Meg was the reason the school got the Chagny's support, since Raoul had insisted on it.

But now…

White-hot jealousy had flared when Meg saw how Raoul looked at Christine, but then she realized how she would like nothing more then for Raoul to be happy. She was to low of class to be a true aristocrat- the type of women that Raoul was expected to marry

Maybe this Christine was; maybe Erika was looking for a rich man to marry Christine off to right this instant.

"Well…" Raoul looked down at the Christine, who was still asleep. A small smile graced her moist face. She looked like a tiny doll, her eyes with the dark lashes closed gently, her cheeks painted a rosy red, and her curls upon curls of brown hair not even mused from her slumber.

"My little rag doll…" Raoul murmured, and then looked up at Meg. "Okay. But it better be red."

Meg rolled her eyes dramatically once more. "Of course! Do you think my mom would settle for anything less!"

Raoul and Meg left Christine to sleep, the conversation leaving with them full of teasing and laughter. Christine shifted in her sleep, and suddenly the tiny smile turned into a tiny frown.

* * *

(My, my, my! I got the most devilishly wonderful idea for this story while I was writing the next chapter! Lets just say, Christine is going to be a very stressed out woman by the end of this story, Erik is going to be scarred for life (Haha, no pun intended) and Raoul is going to be... well... a bit sleepy. So, if anyone has read/seen/heard about the story Romeo and Juliet, you might want to reread the Wikepedia entry on it and get to know it, for this story is taking a WS-turn, for the better, mind you. 

Oh, and _you_ get to decide which one of them is Paris.

-Lovingly, LL)


	17. Scene Four: A Viola

_'Don Juan Triumphant!' Don Juan flicked back his head and let out a coil of laughter, the ensnaring sound wrapping Christine in its claws. Don Juan looked over at his prey, eyes bright and… green?_

_'Erik!' Christine cried. She tried to say something else, anything, but her throat was suddenly tight and her tongue was suddenly heavy. All she could cry, over and over, was 'Erik! Erik! Erik!'_

_That was all he wanted her to say._

_'Erik!' She coughed, and fell to her knees as pain slithered through her tiny body. She felt like she was six again, knew she was six again. 'Erik!'_

_'Don Juan Triumphant!' Don Juan repeated, as if he was telling her something. Eyes like emerald fire peered at her. Where was the gold? The suns? The perfectly yellow yellow eyes?_

_'Erik!'_

_'Don Juan Triumphant!' He struck her across the face with a silver blade._

_Christine cried in pain, but there was no one around to hear it._

_'Erik!' Save me! Come to me! Kill this evil Don Juan for me!_

_The shovel…_

_She reached for the shovel, which would have normally been on her back, but it wasn't there! 'Erik!'_

_'Don… Juan…' Don Juan pointed to the black mask that covered his face._

_'Air… Ick.' Christine sounded out. She was now crying._

_'No… Don Juan.'_

_Oh._

_'Where is Erik, Don Juan?'_

_'Gone.'_

_'What did you say, Don Juan?'_

_'Gone.'_

_'He can't be gone! Your Erik! Erik's Don Juan! Don Juan Triumphant!'_

_'Gone.'_

Christine woke with a start, and her eyes flashed in pain when she opened them. Pure, silvery moonlight shone through an open window, flooding the bed- her bed- on her side of the room. Meg was in her bed, too, smelling of sweet wine and bitter, chopped grass. A firefly climbed and darted through her glossy blonde hair.

Christine took a shaky breath. Then, she got up. It was time to write Erik.

* * *

_Dear Erik_

_How are you? I am fine. It is the ninth, and I'm sorry to say I slept through your birthday. How can one master such feat of unconsciousness? Well, by screaming themselves senseless and then fainting._

_I miss you._

_Don't worry about me, though. I've made two friends already who've already shown that they care enough to take care of me when I was… ill._

_Their names are Meg Giry and Raoul de Chagny._

_The school is very nice. Meg was surprised when I told her how much money I had brought._

Christine stopped, and tapped her chin with the pen, pondering. She stole a quick glance over her shoulder, and then began to write again.

_Meg doesn't have that much money._

She knew it was a mean thing to say, but Erik… he would understand.

_I miss you. I miss our afternoon tea and working on Don Juan. I even had a dream about it._

A nightmare was more like it.

_I miss giving you presents on your birthday and eating chocolate ice-cream. So, instead, I'll write you a song… I do think you can imagine my voice by now…_

* * *

_"No one would listen…No one but him… Hymns that the outcast hears…"_ He clutched the note to his chest as a strong ache reverberated inside him, his broken heart cringing in pain.

Right then, he thought maybe an organ could start playing… maybe with an accenting piano.

"Erik." The daroga crept closer, nervous and fearful. "Daroga." Erik's voice was cracked.

"Your interrupting, daroga."

"I know… Erik…" Somehow, saying his name made the daroga more assured. Bolder. Firmer. "Compared to her voice and yours, my voice must sound like a broken viola- not quite high, not quite low, and awfully out of tune."

"Yes, daroga. And of how I'd love to strangle that little voice right out of you right now."

"Erik… they are performing Hannibal tonight, six 'o clock. I'd like it if you'd come."

"You never see the opera, daroga." His tone was bleak, small.

"Yes, I know. But, you need cheering up. Fresh air." The Persian sadly smiled at the thought. "I know you miss her, but that doesn't mean your life has to end. She'll be back."

"What life are you speaking of? I am made of death! I live in death! I breathe torment and torture! I am death triumphant!"

"No, no Erik." The Persian said tenderly, like a mother softly scolding a son. "You had a life- a mental life- before Christine. Let us now fall into AD until she returns, yes?"

Erik sulked, acting more like the rebellious child. "I don't want to."

"But you have to."

"I want Christine."

"You have Christine. She's just… gone."

"I want Christine! Now! Here!" He pounded a fist on the organ.

"I'm afraid to say this, but- too bad! She's-"

Erik was bristling with cold fury. His eyes blazed gold, and when he spoke, he was shouting, so big was his rage.

"Christine's met a boy!"

* * *

_(This chapter is a string of three chapters which were too small to be a chapter each, so it is a little jumpy. I know you all own't mind, but, still- forgive me. I'm trying to pre-write all the chapters to give myself some breathing room, but right now I only have two chapters ahead of this one._

_Spoilers on next chapters: We find a** very** angry Phantom, a betwitched Christine, a lonely Meg (tear), and some Raoul bashing... :hums rockaby baby:_

_Well, keep reviewing. You know I write only for you!_

_-LL)_


	18. Scene Five: The Voice of Erik

"Raoul, Meg really asked you to take me out?" Christine crossed her legs, feeling uncomfortable in the light lavender dress. It wasn't black, nor was it fiery. She felt out of place. 

"I'm afraid so, Mademoiselle Da-"

"Christine," She corrected, waggling a finger and laughing.

They sat in a fancy restaurant, the walls dripping with cream hangings, the chairs cushy and soft.

"Christine." Raoul repeated, smile on his pink lips. Christine took a bit of her chicken, and flinched mentally. She must be such a sloppy-looking eater.

Raoul watched Christine, eyes a bit glossy. She was so beautiful! He awkwardly cleared his throat, and asked, "So. Tell me about yourself."

Christine put down the silver fork, and thought for a moment. "Well, my mother died giving birth to me." She started, a bit wary. Her story sounded like an opera itself.

"Are you serious? So… so did mine. My mom. And death. In childbirth." He fumbled with his words- she was staring right at him, green eyes gleaming in the candlelight.

"Funny, how the world is small like that. Well, my father then died when I was one-"

"Oh, Christine, that's horrible!"

"So I went to live in an Orphanage. Then, when I was six, Erika adopted me. She truly is my angel." Christine looked down, causing Raoul's heart to twitch in sadness. She could see his face in her mind, beautiful on the bottom, twisted and wickedly horrible on the top. When she would speak no more, Raoul thought the subject might have hit a sore spot in Christine's heart.

"Oh, I am sorry Mademoi-"

_"Christine!"_

"Right," Raoul said, nervous. She must hate him now! "I mean, I don't mean to be rude! I don't mean to be mean! I never mean to be mean!" He exclaimed, causing some of some of the other patrons at the restaurant to look over.

"Well, lets skip ahead. Please, please tell me who Erik is." Raoul looked at her sadly and hopefully all at once. Christine clasped a protective had around her gloved white arm, and averted her eyes.

"No, Raoul. I can't." She whispered.

"But, you can! You're free of whoever this Erik is! He is gone now! Erika and I and Meg will always be able to take care of you now, you are going to be okay! Just tell me, please… I have to know! Who is Erik?"

"Raoul… no. You will never know." Christine got up, and smoothed her gown. "I must be going…" She adjusted the lavender shoulders. "Now."

"No!" He echoed her, standing up so quickly the table rattled a bit. "Don't go! It seems like I just met you… I did just meet you! … Please, Christine, stay for a bit more! …"

_I believe Christine just said that she would like to be going, Chagny-boy_

Raoul's eyes grew large, two discs of dazzling blue. "Did you hear that, Christine?"

She didn't hear what he said.

Her gloved hands covered her mouth, and her face was a blend of surprise and terror.

_Of course she heard it, Chagny-boy. She's not deaf!_

"Christine! You must've heard that! It is speaking of you! The voice!"

"Erik!" Christine's hands muffled her cry, but Raoul still heard it. But, just to be sure:

"Erik? Is that voice Erik's?"

Christine still did not respond. She moaned into her hands and rocked back and forth on her heels.

_Christine… Christine…_

"Let me stay, Erik, let me stay! I want to stay!" Christine cried, voice loud. Now, all eyes were on the three of them- Christine, Raoul, and the voice.

_Christine… Christine…_

"I'm sorry, Erik! Let me return home in one piece! Home! Together! Erik, say something!"

Raoul said nothing. Christine was talking to herself! No, she was talking to the voice… the voice it seemed only them could hear!

_I gave you my music… made your song take wing… and now, how you've repaid me? Denied me and betrayed me…_

"Erik! Stay away, you… you _phantom_!" Raoul grabbed Christine's arm, jerking it away from her face ("Oh!" she cried), and took her from the haunted restaurant- the restaurant haunted with the voice of Erik!

* * *

"Who is Erik?" 

"No, Raoul, no!"

"Who is Erik?"

"No!" Christine yelled, voice shaking. "He'll kill you, he'll kill me! He'll kill the daroga, he'll kill Meg, and he'll kill until he has had his revenge!"

"What does Meg have anything to do with this?" He forgot his hurried feelings for the girl when his best friend was brought up.

"Everything! Meg is everything!" Christine's tears fell on his arms, but he did not release her from where he pushed her up against a tree.

"Tell me… tell me who Erik is!" His voice was low, trembling with anger. He'd murder this man; murder Erik for whatever he had down to Christine.

But, how do you murder a ghost?

_Christine… Christine…_

The voice was far off, still inside the restaurant. But it was coming… closer and closer… _Christine… Christine…_

"Tell me now! Break the spell!" Raoul begged, and he let her go ("Oh!" She cried). He fell to his knees, and his hands stumbled over the fresh, wet, night grass as he looked for a stick. He'd kill the voice with a stick! He'd kill Erik!

"No!"

_Christine… Christine…_

"Who is Erik!"

_Christine… Christine…_

"No!"

_Christine… Christine…_

"Is he the Opera Ghost?"

_Christine… Christine…_

"No! I can not say!"

_Christine… Christine…_

"So he is the ghost!"

_Christine… Christine…_

"No! I mean, I do not mean it like that!"

_Christine… Christine…_

"Tell me one thing…"

_Christine…Christine…_

"Raoul, he is coming closer, can you not hear the voice!"

_Christine… Christine…_

"Tell me Christine…"

_Christine… Christine…_

"Tell the truth, Christine…"

_Christine… Christine…_

"Do you love Erik still?"

_Christine… Christine…_

"Erik!"

"Christine!"

_"Chagny-boy!"

* * *

_

_(A/N: Daaaa! Da da da daaaa! Die Chagny-boy, die:sees you: Well. A-hem. 44 reviews! You all are splendid! Now, I'm not sure if I said this or not, but I'm making this story five parts, instead of just three. Five! Woah! One: Protege. Two: A Lady. Three: Darkness deep as Hell. Four: Sunlight. Five: Good night. Or something like those names. _

_ Spoilers: Chagny-boy gets hurt (badly), Meg slaps Christine, and Christine rides a horse! Whoo!_

_-LL) _


	19. Scene Six: Oh, what fun!

At first, Raoul felt nothing. Then, suddenly, there was a blinding pain on the right side of his head. It was sickening, how the sudden cuff to his head made him bowl over. He landed on his stomach, knocking the air out of him. He gasped a breath of the cold, which stung his lungs, and had to endure another blow to his body, this time just above his hips.

"Erik!" Christine shouted, voice high and panicky.

_Bashing Chagny-boy, oh, what fun!_ Another blow to his side. _Hit him with his stick-_ whap! -_or shoot him with a gun! Bashing Chagny-boy, oh, what fun!_ Slap! _Hit him with his stick-_ whap! -_or shoot him with a-_

"No! No, Erik, no!" Christine ran to his side and threw her arms around his, restraining the man from shooting Raoul.

"Chagny-boy must die!" Erik hissed, positioning his pistol once more so that the bullet would go into Raoul's skull.

"No! Erik! No! It's me, Christine! I'm here! Look!" She grasped his chin in her hands, and turned him to look at her. His golden eyes flickered, and for a second, she saw doubt.

Christine seeing his doubt made him even angrier.

He let out a roar of rage, and pushed Christine down, making her cry out in surprise and pain. Raoul scrambled to get up, but Erik just made his pistol click venomously.

"Stand still and take your death like a proper man, Chagny-boy." Erik barked, and let out a faux-lethal shot- the bullet hit the tree behind Raoul with a splintering bang.

"Erik!" Christine shrieked, and threw herself at his feet, brown hair splaying out onto his black shoes.

He took a step backward, causing her chin to hit the ground softly. "Christine, show some dignity. You said, long ago, that you could kill a man. Well, this isn't as hard as a task, but- kill Chagny-boy. Kill him now. Oh, Christine, do not whimper in freight. It is not that hard. You see this little round metal piece here? Well, look through it to position it, oh, say, between his eyes, and then press this metal curve-y thing right here, and, bang! Bang goes the Chagny-boy!" His demonic, horrible laughter echoed in the clearing.

Why hadn't anyone come outside to see them? Suddenly, as if answering the thought, there was a shriek from inside the restaurant. "Someone has hung him!" The shrill, feminine voice screamed.

"Oh… Erik…" Christine gazed miserably at her mentor. Her eyes were warm with pity, and her childish love for the man returned. "Poor, sad, lonely Erik."

"Christine!" Raoul cried, back against the very tree that Christine's back had graced just minutes before. "He is a devil! You're under a spell! Do not listen!"

_Bang!_

"Erik… Erik… you shot him…" Her voice was quiet, breathless, almost curious. Almost sounding as if she was in awe.

Raoul let out a silent gasp of pain as the bullet's effects fully hit him. Pain snaked through his body, its fiery flames licking his skin. He let out an incoherent, twisted noise, throat suddenly dry.

"Yes, dearest, I shot the Chagny-boy. I know you wouldn't. I shot him for you." His voice was gentle, caring. "You were denying me such a _pleasure_, so I took it for myself." He purred with rumbling laughter.

Christine stood beside him and put a hand on his black-cloaked arm, relishing in how sturdy he felt. All around her, the world was spinning. "But you didn't kill him. You shot him. You didn't kill him. You shot him… not killing… you spared him."

"Yes, Christine, I spared the Chagny-boy."

Raoul's vision was black. He could only hear their voices; their beautiful, beautifulvoices!

"Why?"

"Because, Christine, I am a generous man. One day, yes, I _will_ kill the Chagny-boy. But not today. Not in front of you, dearest Christine."

"Oh. Okay."

Was she blind? He might die even from blood loss! She truly was under some sort of horrid spell; a spell that calmed her frazzled nerves- calmed her enough to see him shot!

"Devil…" Raoul breathed, his voice small. "Witchcraft… hex…"

"Christine, please, make him be quiet. Or maybe I will just have to kill the Chagny-boy now." Erik was firm in his order; Christine walked slowly over to Raoul, bent down, and touched her gloved palm to his forehead. The cold silk somehow made him quiet- or maybe it was that Christine was touching him.

"Now, use the shovel, dearest."

Christine's fingers flexed on his skin, silky fingertips diggings into his forehead.

"The shovel, Mon Amie."

"I'm sorry," she whispered, she pleaded, as she reached into her pocket and took out the spade and smacked him across the face with it.

"Christine!" He cried, and she smacked him again. His nose stinging, shoulder throbbing, shirt wet with his own blood… Raoul passed out.

* * *

"Erik… I don't want to sleep… What did you do to Raoul? … I don't want to sleep, Erik…" 

She curled up into a ball, her natural sleeping position.

_"Nighttime… sharpens… heightens each sensation…"_

"Never!" She buried her face into the wispy white cloth covering her knees. The thick comforter was wrapped around her protectively, and her back was against the pillow.

_"Darkness… stirs… and wakes the imagination…"_

"Erik! I don't want to sleep. I want to make sure Raoul's okay! Where is Meg? I'm…" She trailed off with a wide yawn.

"You're ruining my lullaby." Erik scowled, and then sighed. "Meg is with the Chagny-boy, and Chagny-boy is, please excuse this, dead asleep._ Close your eyes… let your spirit start to soar_…" He hit such a high, lulling note with his deep voice, Christine felt the warm blackness come around her.

"No! I… will not… give in. I don't want to sleep! No… no…no……no……."

_"And you'll live like you've never lived before…"_

"I give up," Christine mumbled, and tightened the curl that was her body. With an almost comical sigh, she fell asleep.

Erik amused himself by watching her for a long, long while. Chagny-boy was all taken care of, Meg was content, and Christine was happy. He closed his eyes, and let the delight that came with this statement wash over him. He took in a rattling breath, and then looked out the window. Dawn was creeping over the horizon, brilliant and pastel, soft and golden.

It was impossible to think of the people that came with the soft, golden dawn. The people that rejected him. The people that loathed him. The people that treated him with hapless, ruthless, unadulterated hatred!

All because of the face… the Devil's face… the face that earned hatred from a mother… the face that made a little girl scream… the face… the horrible face…

_"You alone can make my soul take flight…"_ He whispered down to sleeping Christine. _"Help me make the music of the ni…"_ He got up, and went to the drawers,_ "igh…"_ he blew out the candle, and went to the door, _"ight…"_ He shut the door silently.

Those five notes… strings, defiantly… they had been popping up everywhere… The gentle, hesitant notes… with the soft wisp of a cymbal in the background…

Those five notes played in Erik's head as he walked down the hallway and slowly became one with the shadows around him.

* * *

(A/N: I told you there would be Raoul bashing, didn't I? I liked Erik's song... and how Erik said he was going to kill Chagny-boy and all Christine said was 'oh, okay'. I'm having fun writing this :D Anyway, part two is coming to a close- gasp, I no. It really isn't that important to the story, really. And, like in part one, once I'm totally finished, I'm going to come back and write more chapters. More filling for the story. And I'll change some stuff around... I don't know. 50 reviews! Woo! -LL) 


	20. Scene Seven: Arranging Wallflowers

"Good morning, sleepy-head." The bouncy, happy image of Meg came into view. There was an iridescent sparkle to her fawn-brown eyes today, glittering in pure mischief. 

"What makes you so happy?" Christine yawned and rubbed her eyes.

"I kissed Raoul!"

"You did what?" Christine's face snapped up, and her emerald eyes were suddenly those of a green-eyed monster… she was _jealous_. But, she had Erik... Erik loved her... Raoul was Chagny-boy... she hated Chagny-boy... right?

"I kissed Raoul!" Meg repeated, cheeks blushing fiercely. Pride dripped off every word.

Christine's throat was dry.

"Good… good for you…"

"He was on my doorstep, knocked out cold, with a bullet through his shoulder! I got it out, the wound wasn't very deep, but I think someone must've knocked him around the head because he suddenly started yelling about how we should elope, and then, well,_ he kissed me! Me!_ Oh, I could cry with happiness!" Meg giggled, too happy to see that Christine's face paled several shades.

"Oh… that… that's great Meg…" Christine thought briefly if Raoul had thought Meg was her.

"Well, what do you think I should do? I mean, elope with a Chagny! Oooh, its devilish! Speaking of which, he kept talking of a 'phantom'. He went out with you last night, right?"

"Wrong." Christine lied quickly.

"Oh. Well, I thought it might have to do something with the whole Erik thing. But, hey, you don't want to tell, I'm not asking!" She held up her hands as if warding off Christine's answers. "Anyway, word is that Lily saw you coming in here with a man. What do you have to say about that, Mademoiselle Daae?" Meg waggled an accusing finger.

Christine swallowed. "Um… lies. All lies."

"Riiiight. Never mind. I guess I'll wait till after the play, I mean, I can't steal your Romeo!" Meg giggled once more.

Christine started to brush her hair, hands a bit shaky. "What do you mean, Meg?"

"I'm saying that I'm sure that you got Juliet. I mean, your performance… it was jolly! Wonderful! Stupendous!" Meg tossed a kiss into the air, like an Italian cook, and got off Christine's bed.

Christine didn't get up; she felt trapped beneath the blankets. "Oh, Meg, I am happy for you. I truly am. Just… be careful. Don't do anything that I wouldn't."

Meg raised her brow. "What! Your such a little… wallflower, Christine! If I acted like you, then I'd… die!"

Christine actually laughed when Meg said this as memories of last night came back to her.

"Right, Meg. Be good. Congratulations." Christine went through her daily morning routine slowly, stumbling a bit. She took a bath, changed into a pale red dress, slid on her gloves, combed out her hair, and did everything else a growing woman had too in the morning.

Finally, she stepped out into the small hallway, and was heading towards the dining room… when a pair of hands pushed her up against the wall.  
"What, Er-"

She was cut off as Raoul smashed his lips against hers, hands clutching her neck. She let out a startled noise, and struggled a bit, but then he held her closer, and she relaxed.

Then, several things happened at once:

"Chagny-boy, get yours hands off her!" Erik roared.

"Raoul!" Meg gasped, her heart breaking.

"Christine Daae!" Madame Giry snapped.

How they all got into the hallway at the same moment Christine never knew.

Erik let out a snarl of rage and hit Raoul over the head with his fist, causing him to jump away from Christine, who was a bit dazed. Finally, when thoughts registered in her head again, she saw Meg standing in front of her.

Then, she felt a sharp pain against her cheek.

"You're… supposed… to be… a wallflower!" Meg sobbed, her voice furiously low.

"Meg, go to your room."

"Our room! Its Christine's room too!"

"Then go to mine. Erik, you go to Christine's room."

Christine looked up, hand clutching her red cheek, red from Meg's slap. "You know each other?"

"She teaches at the opera, I live at the opera, one would think so." Erik was fuming. His dark eyes kept glancing at Raoul, who was slowly trying to escape. At least his wide-brimmed felt hat hide his mask in shadow, making it seem almost normal.

"Raoul de Chagny! I expected better from you!" Madame Giry smartly hit his leg with her cane.

"You may go now, Chagny." She added.

"That's all he gets? He attacked me! He… he…"

"No one likes a tattletale Christine." Erik grinned suddenly, and went beside her against the wall. He put a protective, black-cloaked arm around her waist.

"We are going to go take a stroll around the countryside, Madame. I do not think it is necessary for us to go under inspection, do you?"

Madame Giry opened her mouth, closed her mouth, and then opened it. "What about… we need to talk…!"

"Christine and I talking is much more urgent. G'day, Madame." Erik bowed his head, his mask glinting white for a second, and then he walked towards the door that led away from the halls, taking Christine with him

* * *

"Oh, I love doing that to her." Erik mused as they walked though the open country, flowers wavering at their heels. "Madame Giry is a gloriously amusing woman." 

Christine could only 'mmm-hmm' her response. She was thoroughly confused, for one thing. And, she had also just gotten her first, real kiss.

She thought Erik had hated the sunlight. But now, he was taking a stroll with her, the only sound in the open hills their voices. Erik's black cape streamed out behind him, sometimes catching on prickly grass; it was made for stone.

"Erik…"

"Yes?"

"I thought you'd be angrier then this… you know…"

"Oh, Christine." He smiled down at her, and once more that odd feeling that she was with a madman went over her. His smile was just a little too big. His eyes were just a little too glint-y in the sunlight.

"I am as mad as Hell. I am going to kill Chagny-boy. After your play, of course- but that doesn't mean I cannot kill him all together. Oh, it will be a wonderful death… I think we should sing a duet version of No One Would Listen, or maybe something out of Don Juan for his requiem… my, my Christine… you look awfully pale."

* * *

_ (A/N: Again, I love Erik's last sentence. This chapter does seem a bit rushed to me, though I did manage to make it better. I'm contemplating endings for this, though I think I know what I have to do :sighs heavily: Hey, you guys want a clue to the ending? Well, look up Blue Oyster Cult's song that has parenthesis (these) in it. Go, it's like a treasure hunt! Whoever gets the ending right... um... gets to (A) know the ending (XD) and (B) gets to... um... ooo. That's good. Its a surprise, though. Go, go and look, MAE-fans! Go look... for your lives? __That doesn't sound right. -LL)_  



	21. Scene Eight: Gossip

"Put the needle through, take it around, put it through again, take it around, and so on." Madame Lywren instructed. She was a teacher at Rose's School for the Unfinished Woman, teaching sewing and tea-class (the art of sipping your tea correctly) to all of the girls who came to the school.

Christine leaned on her desk, elbows on the wood. She was having a ghastly time. She had pricked her finger over five times already, and had to re-do all of the stitching once when she had accidentally knotted the string. She was trying to sew a picture of a duck onto a swatch of cloth- so far she had sewn the bill, the top of the head, and half of the neck.

"Daae, are you having trouble?" Madame Lywren asked, hovering by her desk. She was a relatively young woman, at least in her late twenties, with wavy, slightly graying blonde hair that she kept in a bun. She had odd eyes; they were no distinct color, just 'dark'.

Christine glared up at her teacher, and then relaxed. "Yes, yes I am. I can't sew."

"No, you just haven't learned. Try to stay out by the rim of the duck's outline, and use littler stitches. We have enough string." Madame Lywren smiled vaguely, and then wandered off.

Christine tried doing what the Madame had said. It worked. She began sewing rhythmically, her fingers getting used to pulling and pushing.

Her mind wandered.

_Raoul._ Where was he? What was he doing? Why had he kissed her? Why had she liked it?

_Meg._ Would they ever be friends again? It was nother fault that Raoul had… attacked her! If she should be mad at anyone, it should be him!

_Erik._ Where was he? What was he doing? He had left her that morning, saying he was to intend the opera with the daroga, and would be back on the night of her play.

_Juliet._ She had gotten the part. How couldn't she after her performance at the theater?

Christine, amazingly, finished her duck as the other girls finished too. She was kept her triumph quiet as she got up a cleaned the scraps of cloth and bits of string off her desk. She then big the Madame farewell, and went to her next class: Horse riding.

The teacher there was Mademoiselle Clancy, a girl barely older then the girls she was teaching; she had tons of freckles and coppery brown hair she kept in a tight ponytail.

Mademoiselle Clancy started pairing up girls with horses.

"Giry, Jaylan."

"D'clare, Ginger."

"Shylee, Cowell."

"Tenar, Isaac."

"Daae, Cesar."

Christine walked slowly over to the giant white stallion, which was digging into the ground with a yellowed gray hoof. He had big brown eyes and a pale blonde mane. "Here… horse-y, horse-y…" Christine clucked her tongue and reached out to pet it, but it scrunched up its neck and snorted, so that she missed.

"Aw… horse-y… horse-y…" Christine took a step forward and stroked the fuzzy muzzle of the stallion. He blinked, and then snorted once more.

"Mounting is simple. Put your foot through the stirrup and then hop on. Make sure you don't kick your horse because these horses do buck. We are going to learn how to ride first, but we'll quickly switch to bareback. Then, if we all are ready, we'll learn sidesaddle, which is defiantly the hardest." Mademoiselle Clancy swung up onto a tiny paint mare and showed the girls each of these three techniques.

"How you all brought breeches, right?" Clancy asked, her eyes shifting over each girl. One girl- Shylee- raised her hand. "I didn't."

"You can barrow some of mine. Everyone put on your breeches and trying mounting while we're going. C'mon, Shylee." The two girls ran off towards a small hut beside the grassy arena. Christine looked at Cesar skeptically.

"Your going to buck me, aren't you?" She asked the horse. It didn't answer. Christine put on the tight breeches, and then she stepped up onto the log that was there to help her, slipped a boot through a stirrup, and then swung onto the horse's back. She almost just swung over the horse, but she caught his mane just in time to stop herself. Cesar jumped, stood on only his hind legs for a second, and then rested peacefully, all four hooves on grass.

"Whew." Christine sighed in relief, and grabbed the reins in her hands. She liked the feel of the soft yet firm leather in her hands, and the way she could feel it when Cesar breathed, his great lungs working beneath her. But, he was too big for her, and having to ride him made her legs stretch.

"Back!" Mademoiselle Clancy called as she climbed over the fence and tumbled back into the grass clearing with Shylee behind her.

"Everyone press slightly against the horse's stomach with your stirrups. This should make them walk."

Christine put the small amount of pressure against Cesar. He began to walk slowly forward, going around the circular arena. The other girls soon joined her, and they became a parade of horses, sunlight gleaming off hair and newly groomed fur.

"Good! You all are great! Now, lets just get used to steering…" Clancy said from her position in the middle of the arena on her tiny paint mare.

Christine tugged on one of the reins. Cesar stopped, and then made a sharp left turn. All of the girls behind her followed suit.

Christine felt a tiny flame grow inside form being the leader. She hadn't been the leader of anything in a long, long time.

If she turned, the others would turn. If she trotted, the others would too. It was exhilarating.

"That's good for today! Daae, Giry, and Shylee, you all have play practice. The rest of you take a break."

Christine dismounted Cesar, patted him, and left him so that Mademoiselle Clancy could tend to him. As she walked towards the big theater, enjoying the fresh air and the blue sky, Shylee caught up with her.

"Your Christine, right?" The girl asked. Christine nodded.

"Are the rumors true?" The girl asked. Christine started to nod, then stopped. "Rumors?" It was her turn to be curious.

"You know… the rumors of you and some man, or you and Raoul, or the one about Raoul proposing to you?"

Christine shook her head quickly. "No! He proposed to Meg!"

_"What!"_

Oops.

"Raoul proposed to Meg? Meg Giry? When did this happen!"

Christine gulped. She had just burned whatever remained of Meg and hers charred friendship

"Do you promise not to tell?" They were coming up to the vast, square, brown and black theater. The roses painted on the sides were beautiful in the sunlight, she noted for the first time.

"Of course!" Shylee put a hand to her lips and made the motion of zipping them. "I'm just dying of curiosity!"

"Well… okay… I went out with Raoul once, and, well, he didn't have a nice time… so… so I think he's gone into denial."

"Aw. That's so sweet." Shylee opened the door to the big theater, the cool air from inside brushing against their faces.

"It is?" Christine asked, blinking her watery eyes- watery from the wind, of course.

"Yes! He must like you, and he's on the rebound… aw…" Shylee lead Christine down the stairs to the wooden stage, her hands playing with her long, sand-colored ponytail.

Christine sighed sadly. "I'd rather him not like me."

Shylee gasped, her fingers falling limp, letting go of the ponytail. "Why?"

"Because, there is another man. And… I'm pretty much married to him." Christine got onto the stage, loving the way her breeches allowed her to climb and not be dragged down, like a skirt would; she wore the pants underneath the silky bottom of her dress.

"You're engaged?" Shylee's big brown eyes widened. "That's wicked, Christine! Your only, what, fifteen years old?"

"I love him." Christine mumbled. "I don't believe that, you know." Shylee countered, swinging her hips a bit as she walked over to the ground of actors and actresses gathered for their first meeting.

Christine glared. She hadn't had the chance to say anything.

"Okay, Romeo, Juliet, go over there." Madame Giry pointed to one of the sides of the stage. Christine walked over, her heart beating a bit. It would be the first time she had seen Raoul since the incident in the hall.

He looked horrible. His normally rosy complexion was pale, his eyes big and dark, and he trembled slightly. Raoul looked down at Christine, and she could see that he was on the verge of breaking down and sobbing. There were twin dark bags under his eyes, shadows that etched into his once-handsome face.

Raoul seemed like he wanted to say something, but his mouth didn't move.

"Raoul…" Christine whispered as she began to take off her breeches from underneath her dress. Juliet did not wear pants.

He shook his head, though his tired eyes never left her.

"What happened to you?" She asked, leaving the breeches on the floor and stepping closer to him. His shoulders suddenly got rigid, and he took a step back. She saw that he had a bandage wrapped around his shoulder underneath his tunic.

"I'm sorry… I told you that he would hurt you… He… Are you still going to be Romeo?" Christine asked, her hands clutching each other in anxiety. She didn't want to have any other man as her leading man.

"Is that all you care about?" Raoul hissed, not loud enough for the others (Though they were already out of earshot) to hear.

"No! Of course not!" Christine reached out to take his hand, but this time, he jumped backwards.

"You're his servant! Witch! You're a witch! I shouldn't have trusted you… I thought you were so innocent!" Raoul began to take shaking steps away from her, tiny little steps.

"I'm not a wi-" Christine retorted, her voice growing angry.

"Yes you ar-"

_Don't you dare call her a witch, Chagny-boy!_

Raoul's eyes grew gigantic. It was the voice! Erik was back! He bottled up the scream that had risen up in his throat, and jumped down from the stage, ran up the steps, and fled the theater.

Madame Giry looked at Christine questioningly. "Romeo doesn't come in until the second scene, anyway… Monsieur Lillic, if you would…?"

A broad man with a thick brown mustache and dark brown hair looked up. He had been cast as the king (Madame Rose had imported boys and men from local camps and military schools) and was a bit too old to be Romeo.

"You will do, for today."

_Antoinette, I do not think that is necessary_

"Erik, please, if he is too old-"

_Oh, please. I think I look quite handsome. Don't you think, Christine?_

"Y-yes…Erik… charming… you are just… charming…" The words were like molasses in her throat.

"Christine!" Meg's petite body popped out of the crowd, her face creased with fright. "Don't speak to him!"

_Please, Meg, this is none of your business_

"It _is _the Opera Ghost!" Meg seemed delighted that her gossip was true; she was not one bit scared for Christine anymore.

"Erik, I guess… I guess if Raoul does not want to be Romeo, then you can. But, if I suspect foul play, then you will be thrown out from this school faster then-"

_Thank you, Antoinette, I understand_

'Is it possible to throw out Erik?' Christine thought briefly, but her thought was interrupted, just like Madame Giry. Erik slid down from the rafters of the stage, black cape hanging all around him. He jumped down the twenty feet between the beams and the theater's platform, barely making any noise as he landed… _just like a shadow.

* * *

_

"You know, Romeo doesn't wear a mask." Madame Giry said as she combed her hair. She knew Erik was near by, for they were having a conversation. It was just after the first practice for the play, and everything had gone wonderfully. Everything except Christine Daae; she had been stiff and not as passionate as before. Shame, really. She had such a pretty little voice.

_Maybe he got his face cut up from a sword fight over Rosaline?_ Erik suggested, deep voice just bubbling up from the air; it didn't seem like the noise came from anywhere.

"Perhaps. Well, Christine Daae is a beautiful young girl. How long did you say you've taken care of her?"

_Nine years_

"Did she have any other human contact?" Madame Giry thought back too seeing in the paper an ad for a missing girl with curly brown hair and bright green eyes, stolen from the local Orphanage. She hadn't thought anything of it at the time.

_My friend, the daroga. Most call him The Persian, though_

"Does he have a real name? You could easily be The Parisian- he must have a real name."

_No, no. His name is the daroga… from Persia_

"That is odd."

_The world is odd_

"I agree. Well, I predict a wonderful performance in July. I am going to be Madame Capulet, you know. And, I predict we have Raoul as Paris, you know."

_So do I_

Erik managed to keep the hatred out of his voice.

"Well, please, encourage Christine somehow. I'll take care of Raoul-"

_Chagny-boy,_ Erik growled, losing whatever willpower he had had a second before.

"Yes, I'll take care of Raoul. He'll be Paris and he won't even know it." She placed the comb on the table and then twisted her dark hair into a bun. She inspected the reflection for a moment, and then got up, the chair feet scraping against the floor.

"Well, Erik, it has been nice talking to you."

_I agree, Madame_

"Good day, Erik."

_Good day, Madame_

_

* * *

_

_(A/N: When Madame Giry and Erik talk it is fun :D Yes, Erik, you look absolutely charming. I guess no one has figured out the ending, so I will close that little contest. :clucks tongue: Shame, shame. The prize? You would've gotten to name one of Christine's children… shame, shame. _

_-LL )_


	22. Scene Nine: Title Too Long to Place Here

_Scene Nine: If you see Erik's face on a stage and you scream, and only Christine's around to hear you, are you allowed to faint? _

"Christine, pay attention!" Erik snapped, on his last nerve. Christine looked up, and blushed slightly. She had been staring at her lap, hands folded. Every night Erik came to her and they practiced, practiced, and practiced. Meg had moved out a week ago, letting Erik literally move in. But he disappeared at dawn, letting her sleep for a couple hours; then she would get up, do her morning classes, eat lunch, do afternoon classes, then take a nap. Erik would then wake her and she would leave for dinner and any classes after that, then she would sleep if she wanted to before Erik would say it was time to practice Romeo and Juliet.

Though, the choppy sleep was catching up with Christine. She had almost dozed off while she was on Cesar's back once, and now she was falling asleep while Erik was talking to her.

"I'm sorry, I'm just tired…" She pleaded, her jaw tightening as she stifled a yawn. "My schedule is… hectic." And he very well knew that!

"The play is not far away." Erik sighed. "But… you are right. Even Chagny-boy is cracking under the pressure." He spoke of Raoul, who had gotten even paler as the days wore on. Meg and him barely talked anymore, and Christine hoped she hadn't ruined their friendship.

"You need to talk to young Meg again." Erik mused, as if reading her thoughts. Christine just sighed. "No, _no_."

"Would you like me to make a situation where you too have to talk?" Erik offered, but after a moment's thought, Christine declined. "No! You'll probably hang someone, make it look like Meg did it, then put the body in my room!"

"No,_ no_, I wouldn't put you through that." He got up, and took off his cape so that he could put it on Meg's old bed. Of course, Erik caught Christine staring at the mask.

"Still not used to it, are you?" He asked, and then sat down. Moonlight fell into his lap and over his dark chest, and she could see it move up and down as he took in small bursts of air. He breathed oddly, she observed.

"Stop staring, Christine. It is rude. And, I'd think you'd be used to me by now." He then stood. "Go to sleep. You will talk to Meg tomorrow, okay?"

She knew she could never refuse. He knew that. She said okay.

"Good." Was all he said. Erik seemed to be thinking something, and, before he could leave, Christine asked what that might be.

"Another thing you should have learned before; my mind is a dark place. Are you sure that you would like to know?"

Christine wavered. Then: "Yes," she said firmly.

"I am thinking of how I am going to kill Chagny-boy. It is almost all I think about lately." Christine felt a gag catch her breath for a second, and she disguised it as a cough. After she was done coughing (the cough had turned to a real cough after a second) she gave a few moments to evening her breath. Finally, she said, "You need a hobby." She said it without thinking.

"I play the organ, I teach you, I am in a play, I compose music," Erik said, his tone dull. "I sing, I run an opera house, I am someone's angel," he smirked, "and I have a daroga to take care of. He fell into my lake after hearing my siren sing and caught a cold. Imbecile."

In her mind, she saw The Persian, and she felt terribly anxious for the poor man.

* * *

"Hey Meg." Christine slid into a chair beside her ex-friend. Meg looked up, momentarily surprised, and then let a cold expression fall over her features. "Yes, Christine?" 

Christine felt his burning gold eyes against her back, scorching into the red silk. She played with her glove a bit, then sighed.  
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to steal Raoul from you. I don't really want him anymore… my feelings for him were hasty. I have… someone else."

Silent approval lay thick on the air, and Christine felt it; she had made Erik happy.

"Well… I guess… if you would like to go on another date with him, then you can… I mean- he never was mine in the first place." Meg took a steady gulp of air, swallowing it quickly so she could speak once more. "I-bet-he-was-delusional-when-he-proposed." She said, all in one breath, big fawn-eyes flickering onto Christine and then off, staring into the shadows. "I won't be offended if you agree with me. I just want to be friends again, you know?"

Christine smiled, relieved. "I do know. And, yes, I… I was out with him before… he came to you. And… I was there when he was shot…" Meg opened her mouth in surprise, but no words came out.

"I can't explain… but he had something to do…" When she trailed off, Meg supplied the words.

"Opera Ghost… right?"

"Right." Christine leaned into the back of her chair, the wood pressing against her. She closed her eyes, wondering briefly if she should explain. When no interruptions from her ghostly friend came, Christine went on. "You see… Erik… the Opera Ghost… doesn't like me… seeing… 'Other people'… well… me seeing… men…" She felt sluggish when saying her secret, and then a she had to wait another moment before she could go on. If he had something to say, he would…

All was quiet.

Christine went on. "And… when he saw me with Raoul… he attacked. Raoul, that is. He told me to shot him, but I didn't -of course!- but he did… Erik shot Raoul. And then I knocked him out… and we came back here. Erik, I'm guessing, dumped Raoul on your doorstep… I hit him around the head when I knocked him out…" Christine's eyes looked meekly up at Meg from behind lowered eyelashes. She waited for the gentle girl to start yelling at her.

No yells came. "Oh, wow." Meg whistled in awe, face carefully blank. "So, you were lying when you said you lived with a woman named Erika?" She couldn't keep the hurt out of her tone.

"Well, no… I said Erik… then 'ah'." Christine knew from the cold look she was getting that this was getting her nowhere. "Yes, I lied, and I'm sorry. Erik doesn't like people to know… you're actually the first person to know everything… Well, besides the daroga, and a bit Raoul."

"The daroga?" Meg asked, confused. Christine realized she had never told Meg of the mysterious man.

"I don't really know much about him- no more then Erik, I think." She stopped briefly, collecting her thoughts. "He's from Persia, and he's Erik's friend, I think… they have… an odd relationship. I only see him when he wants to see me- goes for Erik, too." Christine shuddered as the faint memory of being restricted of food and water came drifting back into her mind.

When she stopped, Meg quickly said, anticipation in her brown eyes, "Go on, go on!"

"He talked to me about puberty, and the difference between girls and boys. Basically, he did Erik's dirty work… no, he did the work Erik detested and did not want to do. But, he would visit me about once a year, making sure I'm still alive and kicking… ha…" Christine gave a dry chuckle. Meg's heart skipped.

"You mean, Erik would kill you? Oh, all the legends are true! Is his skin like dried, yellowed parchment? Do his eyes glow like cold fire? Does he have a nose? Oh, the face! What is his face like? Horrible? Or handsome? Or is he just hiding because of the legends? No one would recognize him, you know, if he came out and was handsome! Tell Erik to come out, Christine! Tell him to come out!"

Christine's eyebrows rose, and furrowed in thought. "Are you sure?"

"Yes! No one should be confined to shadows!" Meg's eyes were like giant discs and her hands clutched the fabric across her lap. Excitement pounded in her veins as she thought of the thought- The Opera Ghost! The Opera Ghost would come out of the Opera! Would he just be a Ghost then? No, he wasn't a ghost; Christine had said so… hadn't she?

Christine's thoughts were muddled, too. Why would Meg want to see Erik? A woman's curiosity, she guessed. And, Meg also had the vain idea that Erik would be strikingly handsome.

With a cynical grin, Christine gestured to the shadows. "Erik, please come out. Meg Giry here wants to see how handsome you are, and lets show her!"

Meg giggled.

The shadows at the edge of the stage flickered and wavered, like gas flickered and wavered when someone is trying to light a fire. Finally, the sharp image of a man dressed in funeral garb (black, black, all black!) and wearing a felt hat appeared.

"Ladies…" He purred, and removed the felt hat, tipping his face forward slightly in a respectful bow. Two golden eyes blazed like cold fire.

Meg screamed.

Christine winced and closed her eyes, her thin chest heaving in a great sigh. "Ha, ha, ha, Erik. You just _had_ to do that, didn't you?"

Erik continued to purr contently.

* * *

_(A/N: Erik's so hot when he purrs . Mmmm. Pop, sizzle. XD That will scar you forever, now won't it?  
_

_ Poor Meg, having to see Erik's face and not expecting it...ALSO! Into The Storm won the contest! It was (Don't Fear) The Reaper! And she has named her child Lotte. Now, I think I have realized that no one reads my authoress notes! If you do, type: '_Erik is hot when he purrs' _in your review :D_

_-LL) _


	23. Scene Ten: Love, Raoul

"Meg, Meg, Meg! He hates it when people do that." Christine fed her ex-ex-friend warm soup, her long, curly brown hair pinned up. Dark shadows slung to the skin under her eyes; she had been tending to Meg for an hour. She had missed three classes, but people had learned not to wonder where shy little Christine disappeared to so often. 

Meg had a great quilt wrapped around her tiny dancer's body like a straightjacket, and the frame of the bed shook as she shivered in fear. If it weren't for Christine's soothing words and mental balm, Meg would've lost herself in her own monstrous fear of Erik.

"How… horrible… could… you… burn… his face… how… could you live… with… his face… horrible…?" Meg's eyes were enormous and her skin was deathly pale.

Christine tried to understand what she was saying. When she couldn't, she said, "Well, he is an awfully nice man. Once you get to know him. Well, even then, he can be a bit mean, but he never means any harm, most of the time."

Christine's words didn't make any sense either. She kept saying what Meg wanted to hear, then what she needed to hear, then the truth. The combination was lethal.

Meg nodded a small, trembling nod. "Y-yes… I suppose so… but his eyes… eyes that burn! …And you lived with that… since you were six?"

"Yes, Meg." Christine dabbed her forehead with a wet rag, folding the cloth over her skin so that it soaked up all the nervous sweat.

"Is he going to kill me… for seeing his face… with his magical lasso?" Meg asked.

"Magical lasso?" Christine stopped dabbing her face and lowered the rag so that she could look Meg in the eyes. "What in the world are you talking about?"

"The magical lasso… the stagehand was always talking about it… rope… around your neck… magical!" Her hands tried to release themselves from under the quilt, but Christine just pressed the blanket down harder.

It took her a second before she realized what Meg meant, and when she did realize, she almost laughed. "Oh! The Punjab!"

Meg Giry squeaked in fright and fainted onto her pillow. Sighing once more, Christine dabbed at her cheeks with the rag.

_No, remember, you told Shylee about me too, _Erik reminded her gently, his voice lightly teasing her.

Christine winced. Was her everywhere that she was? "I'm sorry."

_Oh, Christine, I can never get mad at you…_

"Pff."

_Well, I will always forgive you if you did something stupid. Or, I apologize if I did something stupid. There._

"God forbid." Christine giggled, and put the rag on the table next to the bed. "So," she continued, "are you going to move out so Meg can come back here?"

_She never said she wanted to… _He wheedled.

"Erik." Her voice was stern.

_Fine. If you don't want me…_

But, she knew his tricks. He was trying to sound offended so that she would crumble and then tell him that he could stay in her room. "No. I mean, yes. I don't want you." Even as she said it, she could feel it burn in her mouth. It was a lie. But, she wanted Meg to stay with her! That's why she came to school in the first place, wasn't it? To meet new girls!

Silence.

"Erik?"

Silence.

"I'm… sorry."

Silence.

"Your suppose to forgive me now for acting stupid… you promised!"

Silence... and then:

_Groveling won't help._

"Erik! Erik… you know I love you… right?"

She could hear his soft sigh echo around her quiet room.

_I know

* * *

_

Raoul tapped his chin with the pen, his other hand clasping the bottle of ink. One of his fingers idly skimmed around the rim of the bottle, coating his skin with flaky, soggy, old ink. He wiped his finger on his trousers (only availing in smearing the ink even more) and loosened his death-grip on the poor pen. He began to write.

_Dear Christine,_

_You asked why I did not want to be Romeo. Well… your 'friend' tried to kill me._

No! No, no, no! That was horrible! He crumbled up the piece of paper and tossed it into the wire wastebasket.

_Dear Christine,_

_I'm sorry if I caused you any pain._

Her any pain indeed!

_But… I just can't be around you… you frighten me. Maybe it is because, even though I tell myself otherwise, I still have feelings, infatuated ones, for you. I know you must feel the same, just a teensy bit, because, before this whole Erik business came up, you were nice to me. You blushed when I touched you. You laughed and whispered to Meg. You must have felt something… anything!_

_So, I am sorry. I am._

He paused.

_Love,_

_Raoul_

_

* * *

_

_(A/N: Lets give a big round of applause for Spruce Goose Mach 2! She made me feel guilty about not updating for you guys fast enough by reviewing even though I didn't deserved it! XD I do think I've spoiled you all with me five-updates-a-week-diet. Also, I just saw Howl's Moving Castle, and... well... HOWL ROCKS MY FACE OFF! He's on my list of hot, disfigured guys now XD _

_ Anyway, I think this phic is going to get even wierder becuase I saw that._

_Meet me in the future!_

_-LL)  
_


	24. Scene Eleven: Notes

Erik growled deep in his throat, the sound making the air tremor with his power. His great black body clutched Raoul de Chagny's note, leather hands holding it so tightly that he wouldn't be surprised if the taunt paper ripped. He was thinking of ripping up the note anyway. 

How dare he! How dare that unintelligent, stupid, little boy write 'love', even if it just a message at the bottom of the letter, to _his_ Christine?

Erik dropped the letter, reached into his pocket, and took out a block of red wax and a box of matches. He crouched down and then struck a match up. The tiny flame flickered, and then took to the wood. Quickly, without making any noise, Erik lit the corner of the red block on fire. Soon, a tiny drip of red wax had landed upon the cursed word.

He put the block (after waiting a moment for the wax to cool) back into his pocket, blew the match out, and threw the tiny shred of wood away.

Erik then took out his swan feather quill, pricked his dry finger, and wrote a new message on the back of the paper.

Erik picked up the note and stood up. In his head he conceived an idea- a delicious, malicious, vengeful idea. He placed the note on Christine's sleeping form, then shook her awake and departed.

Christine's wide, sleepy green eyes fluttered open. She moaned, closed her eyes, and turned underneath the blanket, trying to shake off being awake. The note, still a bit warm from the wax, touched her bare arm as she shifted. Her eyelids snapped open as the curious warmth stuck to her bare skin.

She waited a moment, the lifted a hand to her arm. Her fingertips skimmed across paper. Christine, puzzled, lifted the note to her eyes and began to read the note.

Her tiny mouth fell open in a gasp.

_Raoul!_

She got up and left her room, leaving the note to flutter off her lap. Meg slept soundly even as the door made an ominous 'click' as it shut.

_Dear Christine,_ the note read

_I love you._

_Tonight, we perform our play. And, in my love for you, I will finish the play like it is supposed to be finished. Tonight, we do justice to Shakespeare._

_I love you._

_And, in my love for you, I will kill Paris._

_Your obedient Angel,_

_OG_


	25. Scene Twelve:Past The Point of No Return

A groggy crowd of people sat in the theater chairs, blinking their eyes. They would've sworn that the play weeks from now, not right now! But, here they were… how did they get here?

Madame Giry, her thin limbs trembling, climbed onto the stage and began to speak. "T-t-t-t-t…. Tonight we are h-having a performance of… Romeo and Juliet… p-p-please enjoy the sh-show."

A smattering of applause.

_"Please enjoy the show!"_ Madame Giry's voice boomed. The air was alive with clapping from the confused guests.

Madame Giry blinked once, looking surprised, and then scurried down to change into her own costume. She would've sworn today was August second… she thought the play was supposed to be in July!

And the play went on without a hitch. Erik, his face wrapped in bandages, practically hurt the audience by the power of his voice. He radiated energy, and it seemed like the chandelier always cast its warm glow on him.  
When Christine made her début, the audience seemed stunned. Christine was no longer shy, little, quiet Christine. Her hair was up in a bun, and she looked beautiful in a dark purple dress, almost frighteningly so. But, if you looked close enough, you could see that she was shaking slightly.

Her voice poured over the audience, and, when Erik and Christine touched, everyone could feel her fear and his ecstasy. They were the perfect singers, the perfect actors, and the perfect couple.

Then, Raoul came running onto the stage, interrupting Romeo's love sonnet. Raoul looked horrible, his chest heaving pitifully, his blonde hair hanging in a mess from his head.

"Get away from her, you beast!" He shouted, pulling out a silver sword.

The audience looked at each other, momentarily out of Erik and Christine's spell. Why was Paris here already? He was supposed to fight with Romeo much later…!

Erik, Romeo, laughed. "Oh, put that thing away. Don't poke your eye." Christine, Juliet, knowing that she was needed, ran down from her wooden stage balcony. "Ra-"

_"Paris!"_ Romeo, hissing, interjected. Christine nodded. "Paris… what are you doing here?"

"Who is he?" Romeo asked, pointing to the new face. His gold eyes, peering out from beneath thick wrapping, stared at her. He wanted her to play along. But his note, the horrible note! Raoul would die tonight!

"He… he is Paris…" She turned away from him, hugging herself. "My… fiancé…"

Paris let out a gasp, louder then Romeo's fake one.

Juliet stepped away from them. "I'm… sorry…"

The audience shrugged. Well, it was a surprising change to the normal play, but not an unpleasing one.

"Well, I guess we will have to fight to see who wins you." Romeo growled, and turned back to Paris, whose hand was still firmly holding the silver sword. Romeo reached into the shadows at the edge of the back of the stage and suddenly he was holding a bright, golden sword.

"No!" Juliet screamed. She ran to stand in between them, her green eyes squeezed shut.

The audience thought this was mighty good acting.

"Get back, Juliet." Paris said, his voice venomous. "Tonight, I will kill this man, once and for all."

At that moment, Romeo pushed Juliet down, and lunged at Paris. Juliet hit the ground with a thump, and she let out a small peep, though she knew she had to let them fight. They were still on stage, and this had to look natural.

Gold met silver in a flash of dazzlingly bright sparks. Paris' sword was no match for the thick metal of Romeo's though, and soon the hilt was scratched up horribly.

The audience began to get the faintest idea that something was amiss.

Juliet inched away from the middle of the stage, her ears ringing with the clang of the swords. She wanted to get up and yell: "Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!"

But, they were acting now.

She was almost at the end of the stage when Paris gave a yelp. Romeo had pushed him against a fake tree, sword at his throat. Each was breathing heavily, their eyes locked onto one another's.

Juliet looked over her shoulder when she heard a strange grating of metal. It would seem that Paris was trying to get free.

_"This face… which earned… a mother's fear and loathing…"_ Romeo sang, his quiet voice suddenly the only noise in the still theater. Everyone looked at him with surprise, and, in two cases, fear.

_"A mask… my first! Unfeeling scrap of clothing… Bravery comes to late! Raise the mirror and face your fate! All because of your naïve kiss,"_ He shot a single glare at Juliet, who had gotten to her feet, trembling a bit. When he looked at her, she saw insanity sparkling in his eyes. _"Damn you to an eternity of this!"_ Erik raised a finger from the sword and pointed to his bandaged face.

The audience and Juliet started getting a tingling feeling of horror in their stomachs. Paris was already terrified for his life.

But Erik would not take Raoul's life tonight. Instead, he raised his golden sword up from the lock of Raoul's silver sword, and slowly brought it down so it grazed his rosy cheeks. Erik kept singing to himself, but the tune suddenly changed. He was singing something from Don Juan Triumphant? What?

"_When will the blood begin to spill? The sleeping bud wither- become still? When will the flames at last consume you?_ Oh, Christine, sing with me! Sing with me like you did when you were young!" Erik demanded, pressing a bit deeper into Raoul's cheeks. He winced, but did not move for fear of making the blade go a bit deeper.

_"Past the point of no return… the final threshold! The bridge crossed, so stand and watch it burn… We've past the point of no… re… turn…"_

Erik smiled, and thus started the process of cutting up Raoul de Chagny's face.

* * *

_(Updating... like mad... trying... to make up for... lack of updates... squaaa..._

_And, my dear friends, the true story starts here!...) _


	26. Scene Thirteen: Erik has been bad

The audience screamed as the first drop of blood hit the stage. There was a mad scramble to the doors, and then the theater was empty, all except for Christine, Erik, Raoul, and Madame Giry. 

_"Erik!"_ The elder woman stood at the base of the stage, her eyes wide in fear. Erik did not look up from where he held Raoul down and was chiseling away at his perfect face. Raoul twisted, trying to break out of Erik's iron grip, but it was no use. He screamed. He cried.

Tears coursed down his bloody, tattered face, the face that had once held such great color and life. Erik took great pride and making beautifully atrocious. He cut lines around the eyes, never once harming the flawlessly blue eyes, never once cutting through a cheek. No, Chagny-boy would be able to look at himself in a mirror. Or, what was left of himself.

Christine was almost paralyzed with fear and shock. Her heartbeat reminded her that time was ticking away, but, really, what could be done?

Maybe she could stop Erik.

"Erik!" She ran over, dress flipping in waves of fabric at her heels. The chandelier illuminated her image, then tugged away the light and cast her in shadow. Erik looked briefly up, shrugged nimble shoulders, and turned back to start cutting Raoul up again. Apparently, Raoul had fainted, since no more cries of pain came from his bloody lips now.

Christine slid her tiny hands around his black arm, and then pulled herself close to his side. This made Erik pause, glance at her with wide eyes, and then slow down the torture a bit.

"Erik…" She repeated, practically purring, and tensed her muscles to keep from shivering. One of her tiny hands started to climb up his arm, nearing his shoulder.

The man closed his eyes briefly, letting himself fall for the façade for a brief a shining moment. His golden and scarlet sword clattered against the stage. Encouraged, hopeful, Christine made her fingers tap their way higher, up his neck… higher still… she rubbed her face against his arm like a cat might against a chair…and then, she fingered Romeo's bandages.

Erik's eyes snapped open, fury shining in the golden lights. He let out an inhuman snarl (though, everyone was acting inhuman today) and took Christine firmly by the waist, pushing the poor girl even closer to him. She was startled, to say the least, at her sudden loss of control over him. When she gasped, she almost choked, since the air was full of the smell of blood.

"Erik-!" And suddenly she was reminded of her dream, of how she could only say his name over and over; how Don Juan had replied simply that he wasn't Erik, that Erik was gone. This was all too surreal to be happening; and suddenly the gears in her well minded mind shifted and chinking into place.

This must be a dream too.

Sighing, her head still swirling with fear, Christine relaxed against Erik, letting him crush her to his side. He looked down, confused at her sudden lack of apparent terror. It was puzzling for him to try to think of a quick explanation to this, and, in his muddled haze, Erik let go of Christine and began to walk back to the comforting shadows which had collected at the edge of the stage, wanting to be blotted out until he was at ease once more.

Christine waited until Erik had left them, and then called to Madame Giry. Together, the two women inspected the damage done to poor Raoul's face.

Madame Giry left to get real medical help; though, she first had to promise not to give anything away about the location of Erik or about Christine's relationship to the Opera Ghost. Christine made Madame Giry promise to fib and say that the ghost must've come to the play tonight because Rose's theater looked so much like the Paris Opera House. Life was confusing enough- Christine didn't want to have to deal with anything more.

Strangely fascinated, Christine stroked what was left of Raoul's cheek. She didn't have the courage to exactly poke around a strip of the scarlet flesh, but just stroking it was, in her eyes, a brave thing to do.

In her heart, she knew that this was wrong. Erik had been bad. Very, very bad. But, no anger came to her.

You can never get truly angry with someone you love.

But, when Raoul's eyes flashed open, they held anger; anger at Christine, anger at Erik, anger at the world. His pain made his eyes water, but even with a coat of glassy tears, Raoul looked like a monster; it was exactly what Erik had wanted.

Without a word, Raoul stood, and staggered a few steps. Christine got up and went to his side, worry for him tainting all her thoughts. Suddenly, he swirled around and grabbed her by her elbows and pulled her to him.

"You… you are coming with me…"

It was not the hatred, the anguish, or the brokenness in Raoul's voice that made Christine start to cry and become weak enough for him to drag her away, back into the comforting shadows. Nor was it his words- you are coming with me.

It was the darkness of his voice. The husky, whispery, almost sinister darkness. It was so much like Erik's voice.

* * *

_"And you pretty much know the rest. Though, quiet currently, something has disturbed our dear friend: he realizes that the older you get, the more independent you will be. Just when you mentioned that you'd like to use the shovel and not anything else, Erik got very, very afraid. For, you see, he is used to being on top. He has not yet had to pit his mind against youth. And, I think we both know that youth would win."_

_End of part two: A Lady_

_

* * *

_

_ (Amazing. Part two is already over. Amazing. _**Cheers!**


	27. Intermission

Ahhh...

Let me explain!

I wrote Mon Amie Eros with a laptap. When the laptop broke... so did MAE D:

So all this time I've been trying to fix the laptop. And, once I do, I'll update.

But, just to let you know, I HAVE NOT GIVEN UP!

And I never will.

-BHK out

P.S. You can kill me if you want.


	28. The Play Resumes

Hi everyone! -waves- It's me, Lily, the author of MAE! First, let me say this:

I AM SO, SO, SO SORRY I HAVE BEEN GONE FOR SO LONG. First it was the laptop leaving me, then the inspiration left too. I was unhappy with how the story was going, so decided to quit it. I still thought of it often, however, and read it several times after I finished part two.

A week from today I saw Phantom of the Opera in Broadway in Chicago. It was one of the most amazing events of my entire life.I remembered why I loved to sing, and how special it was to write a phanfiction. I decided then that I would continue MAE, but on my new fanfiction account, Commoner Lily.

So now I am writing a sequel to Mon Aimé Eros, dubbed '**Coup de Foudre**'. That means _lightening_ in French, or _falling in love at first sight_. Romantic, isn't it? Here is the link to it:

** www . fanfiction . net/s/3932618/1/CoupdeFoudre **

Remove the spaces and you're in! REMEMBER, THIS IS ON MY NEW ACCOUNT, **COMMONER LILY**. SORRY FOR THE CONFUSION!

The book is probably going to have two to three parts, also. It continues where MAE left off: Christine is with Raoul, Raoul has had his face torn up by Erik, and Erik is lost and confused. I hope you all continue to love reading about my little phantoms as you have in the past!

I love you all! When I read all of the reviews I still smile so much! -cries-

-Lily, who will never, ever leave you :3


	29. HMMM

I was thinking of rewriting this.

Who would want me to?

email me at older poet gmail . com

or review here.

looooveee, lux)


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